


A New Day

by SpaceWall



Series: Dawn [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Genderfluid Character, Letters, Love, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Other, Platonic Relationships, Reconciliation, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 16:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14382408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceWall/pseuds/SpaceWall
Summary: Of the house of Finwë, Maeglin Lómion alone remains unredeemed and unforgiven. Driven by old love and new revelations, Celegorm dedicates himself to saving the son of his oldest and dearest friend. Meanwhile, the Valar begin to consider their failures.OrSometimes, forgiveness is impossible. Sometimes, it isn’t. We must learn to listen, even to those we do not love, even to those we have not yet forgiven. We cannot leave unspoken our tragedies, we cannot leave the ghosts in our hearts unexorcised.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This deals fairly heavily with Aredhel’s abusive relationship with Eöl, as well as Maeglin’s deeply inappropriate harassment of Idril. If this may be triggering for you, please remember to look after yourself first, yeah? I have written other things which are not about this that you may like better. 
> 
> The use of the names ‘Maeglin’ and ‘Lómion’ largely reflect who Aredhel told about her son, and who knew him in Gondolin. Lómion was Aredhel’s name for him, and I don’t believe she would have reconciled herself to calling him anyone else. Those who were her friends likely follow her lead.

The elf was silver haired, armed, and utterly unyielding. There was a short sword at his belt, and his hair was pulled back into a combat braid. Despite the hair, Eöl would place him as a Noldo. He threw a pile of clothes unceremoniously to the ground at Eöl’s feet.

“Get dressed,” he snapped, in faintly accented Sindarin that surely marked him as one of Fëanor’s ilk.

“Where is my wife?” Eöl snapped in return. He would not bow to this insult, like some common swine.

The elf said nothing. He pulled the short sword calmly from his belt, and began to examine his reflection in the steel as though it were a mirror.

“Damn you, you half-witted thrall, where’s my wife?”

The damn Noldo didn’t even bother to look up. Eöl took one, threatening step towards him, and instantly, the Noldo moved, with the grace and speed of a trained warrior, digging the point of his blade into Eöl’s throat.

“I do not want to spill blood on these shores.” The Noldo whispered, voice deadly yet arrogant, “but I will, if you ever so much as lay eyes on Aredhel. I will kill you, and accept the consequences as the Valar see fit to lay them down.”

Eöl spat in his face, and gained some satisfaction from watching spit drip down the Noldo’s chin, and onto his fine clothes. He didn’t pull away, and indeed, if anything, the tip of the blade dug in a little harder.

“And who, exactly, saw fit to arm a kinslayer on these shores?” Eöl snapped, guessing and hoping he hit the mark.

Indeed, the kinslayer flinched at mention of his crime. “The blade is from my brother’s forge. But I received dispensation for it from Oromë.”

“Ahh, so you are armed by another kinslayer and approved by the stupidest of the Valar.”

This barb, like the first, was aimed at soft flesh. It dug in, and Eöl saw the Noldo’s eyes flash with uncontrolled fury. He kneed Eöl in the stomach, sending him tumbling to the ground in pain. Eöl, once he regained his breath, began to laugh harshly. For a second, this seemed only as though it would provoke the Noldo more, but something made him draw back. He sheathed his blade, and drew himself out of a combat stance.

“What, not prepared to go through with your threats?”

Once again, the Noldo seemed disinclined to answer, staring off into the middle distance. Eöl pulled himself to his feet, and demanded, “if you’re not going to tell me where my wife is, where is my son?”

“Not here.” The Noldo muttered.

“What do you think I am? Blind? Where is he?”

“You just left there.” The Noldo returned, and, then turned on his heels and marched away. As if an afterthought, he called over his shoulder. “Remember my warning, murderer. A single hair on her head has more value to me than your existence, body and soul.”

Eöl waited until the Noldo was out of sight before he bent to pick up the clothes that had been left for him. It would not do to let such a creature witness his shame.

\--

Maedhros answered the door with a trowel in one hand, and a pair of sheers tucked under his arm. Celegorm, who had knocked loudly enough to shake the door, raised an eyebrow at him.

“Domestic,” he said. There was a small smile on his lips.

“What can I do for you?” Maedhros asked. He hadn’t been expecting Celegorm today, but various brothers dropping in unannounced was a relatively common occurrence.

Celegorm shuffled, awkwardly. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Fingon. Is he here?”

Well, that wasn’t a common occurrence at all. “Yeah, he’s here, but if I can ask, why?”

Fingon, as if on cue, appeared at Maedhros’s left hand. “Because I am a handsome and charming fellow, who always gives good advice. What do you need, Celegorm?”

“Good advice. Sadly, Finrod is busy today, so you’ll have to do. Mind if I whisk him away, brother dearest?”

Maedhros loved Celegorm like, well, a brother, but that didn’t mean that he trusted him alone with Fingon. He’d left them alone once as children, and Celegorm had managed to fill Fingon’s hair with sap in less than 30 seconds. Not to mention all the unsavoury things Celegorm had once said about their marriage. Even though he was forgiven, that didn’t mean trust had yet fully returned.

“I mind. I’m sure anything you need to talk to Fingon about, I probably want to know.”

Celegorm sighed, and rubbed the heel of his hand against his face. “Guess it can’t hurt. But if you repeat anything I say here to anyone, I’ll-“

“- threat, threat, threat. Got it. Sitting room?”

Celegorm knew by now where to find Maedhros and Fingon’s sitting room. He showed himself there, and sat as patiently as Celegorm ever did. Maedhros and Fingon joined him. Unsure of what to do with his gardening tools, Maedhros dropped them on the table. They were dirty, and Fingon gave him a look equally dirty in return.

“I’ll clean it,” Maedhros told him, and left the tools where they were.

“What do you need?” Fingon asked Celegorm.

Celegorm took a moment to reply, and finally said, “Aredhel.”

Fingon and Maedhros looked at each other. They could both see the obvious joke, but this wasn’t the time, and Maedhros managed to communicate as much.

“More specific, maybe?” Maedhros asked, polite as he could manage.

“I’m not joking about the pair of you keeping this secret,” Celegorm told them. “If it falls through, I don’t ever want Aredhel to know that I tried, because that will hurt her more than words ever could. I want to try and get Lómion back.”

Sometimes, it was so easy to imagine that everything- everyone- was as well as Maedhros and Fingon were, these days. For a moment, Maedhros could forget Maglor’s scarred hands and Elrond’s missing daughter. For a moment, he could imagine all the world was healed, that the shadow no longer lingered in their hearts. But it wasn’t true, and such moments never lasted long. Perhaps it was best they didn’t. Forgetting all they’d lost would have been as tragic as losing it again.

“That’s why you need me,” Fingon muttered. Of course. Because Fingon was the only person (save Lúthien) who’d ever successfully bargained, bartered or pleaded someone from Námo.

Celegorm nodded. “It’s not fucking fair. That I get to walk these shores, but Lómion stays gone. Aredhel needs him. She deserves him.”

Maedhros made sure his tone was gentle as he said, “has it occurred to you that Lómion may simply not be ready to return?”

Celegorm shook his head. “If six millennia hasn’t been enough time to heal in Mandos, then maybe just sitting there isn’t what he needs. Is it what you needed, Maedhros, in the end? I know it wasn’t where I did my healing, or Caranthir or Curufinwë. Or at least, that alone was never enough.”

“No,” Maedhros murmured, “it wasn’t what I needed.” He gave Fingon a tender sort of smile, which was returned in kind. Celegorm pretended to vomit.

Fingon shook his head at Celegorm. As though he was above such humor. Then, he returned to seriousness. “Before I advise you, I have to ask- beyond your love of my sister, why is Lómion’s return your problem? It may affect the advice I give.”

Celegorm looked down at his hands. “Because I failed him. Aredhel likes to blame the lords of Gondolin, and hates to blame Turgon, though she does. But I knew that she was dead. I knew she had a son, and I knew how they treated boys from doomed lines in Beleriand. I should have done something. I shouldn’t have left him to Turgon’s tender mercies.”

“How, exactly, did you mean to find him in Gondolin?” Maedhros enquired, genuinely curious. “What would you have done if you had?”

“I don’t know, but I would have looked after him. And before you start, Celebrimbor turned out perfectly fine, despite all the time he spent with me and Curufin.”

“Celebrimbor rejected the both of you,” Maedhros pointed out.

“And we’d raised him with the good sense to do just that. Besides, with us, Lómion would have been the best of the bunch. Which is a sight better than being the worst of the lords of Gondolin.”

Fingon shook his head, wistfully. “I wish I could give you better advice. All I can suggest is to ask nicely, to ask desperately, and to ask consistently. If you stick at it for a few decades, maybe they’ll deign to help you.”

Celegorm sighed melodramatically, “Well, I knew that. Don’t you have anything more helpful?”

“Well,” Fingon said…

\--

“Absolutely not.” Idril snapped, slamming her glass down so hard the table shook. “Eru knows why I even let you in the house.”

“Idril please-” Celegorm began, but she cut him off. Idril could not, would not, allow this to continue.

“Not as long as there are stars in the sky, Fëanorion. Maeglin was a monster. Even if you believe everything they say about him being manipulated by the enemy- which I don’t- he was a monster before that.”

“He was an orphan.” Celegorm snapped, clearly unable to restrain his temper.

“He was a sexual predator. But I guess you’d know something about that, wouldn’t you?”

As soon as Idril said it, she regretted it. But the words were out there now. For a second, it seemed as though Celegorm would burst with rage, but instead, with the practice of someone who’d been angry all his life, he yanked his fury back in.

“I’m here, and Lómion is not.”

Idril clenched her hands into tight fists, as if digging her nails into her hand could alleviate the soreness in her heart. “Well, maybe Lúthien was just a better person than I am. Or maybe she doesn’t count, being dead. But I’ll not let that traitor walk these shores while I have breath left in my body.”

“That’s not the point.” Celegorm groused.

Idril forcefully uncurled her hands, wrapping them around the arms of her chair instead. “Oh, then what is?”

“Aredhel.”

And wasn’t that just the most awful thing to say? “Oh lovely, play to my feminine sensibilities, why don’t you? Even deviants and predators have mothers somewhere, pity their poor dear hearts. That’s horseshit and you know it.”

Celegorm actually growled. “I’m not trying to manipulate you.”

“Then what, exactly, are you trying to do?” Idril demanded.

“All I want,” Celegorm retorted, “is to help my friend.”

“How is this helping anyone?” Idril demanded again, trying to keep her tone as authoritative as her father’s ever had been.

Celegorm seemed to change tactics. “Would you be happy, if it was your son-“

Oh, he was not getting away with that. “Don’t start on that ‘pity the poor, dear, mother’ garbage again.”

Celegorm stood, seemingly prepared to get up in her face. “I’m not finished. If it was your son who’d been orphaned, by Lómion, let’s say, and, having been so, was treated like an outcast, like a freak, for who his father was?”

“Maeglin was a monster.” Idril stood too. She would not be intimidated.

“I know. But-” Celegorm cut himself off, and was silent for a long moment. He sat back down, and Idril mirrored him.

“But what?” Idril demanded, too curious to stop herself.

Celegorm allowed the pause to stretch on for almost a full minute before he said, “can you keep a secret from your father?”

“Not for you I can’t,” Idril told him. There was no way she would conspire with a Son of Fëanor behind her father’s back. Well, not this particular one anyhow.

“Then for your conscience, and may Aredhel forgive me.” His words were opaque, and Idril didn’t understand the meaning. He continued, “Eöl is back. Lómion needs to be here, because Eöl is back, and if we don’t get him first, Eöl surely will. Imagine that.”

Idril knew little of Maeglin’s father. She knew he was a murderer. She knew he was Aredhel’s husband (and therefore, by marriage, Idril’s uncle), but of his character, his spirit, she had little enough knowledge. That being said, if Maeglin was any sort of reflection on his father, it did not bode well that Eöl had returned. And wait-

“You and Aredhel are hiding Eöl? Where? How? Why?”

Celegorm threw his head back and laughed, bitterly. He didn’t seem amused. “Hiding him? No, we’re just not telling people he’s back because Aredhel would rather not have her male relatives do wicked things in defence of her honor. Rather like you, in that regard. She prefers not to have people play to her ‘feminine sensibilities’. As to where he is, well, I haven’t the foggiest idea, but I’m sure Vána and Oromë are keeping him under watch at all times.”

Idril took this all in. She held little respect for her aunt, though she knew it was not just or fair that she felt that way. What she remembered of Aredhel from when she was a child was favourable enough, but all of that was tarnished by Maeglin. What kind of person raised a child like that? Perhaps this was cruel. Definitively, it was cruel. But Nerdanel, at least, seemed to hold some measure of shame for her children. Aredhel never had. And, truth be told, Idril did not dislike Fëanor’s sons, save Celegorm, as much as she ought to. Idril remembered when Aredhel had first returned. She had been weak as any of the newly returned might be. But she had not been ashamed for her son. If anything, she had been proud. Idril couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as her. There was too much of Maeglin in her eyes, in her voice. It was like he’d returned and it made Idril sick to her stomach. Maeglin there, Tuor gone. But for all of that, Aredhel was not weak, and she was not a coward. So, what kind of person could scare her so badly that only the Valar themselves could watch over her?

“And why, exactly, should that affect my judgement in any way?”

Celegorm got a hunter’s look in his eye, and Idril knew he was going to confirm her worst fears before he said it. “Everything you’ve said about Lómion? Everything that’s true about me? Eöl is worse. He is much, much worse. Because Lómion and me, we’ve got about as much charm, as much manipulative ability as your average boar. But Eöl? Aredhel was daughter to a king, sister to two more, and nobody could protect her from Eöl because he made her love him. Not with spells or illusions, at least, not of the literal sort. He made everything about him seem attractive, every wicked action appear redeemable. Frankly, the fact Lómion wasn’t a far more effectual monster than he was is a testament to Aredhel’s ability as a parent. She kept Eöl from turning that child into a weapon. Even when it cost her her life. And if the enemy finished Eöl’s work for him? Well, Aredhel was far too busy having been murdered to stop him.”

“That bad?” Idril whispered. She was leaning forward in her seat, like a child listening to a ghost story.

“Imagine Finrod’s charm, with my temper and Lómion’s… well, you know. That gets you to Eöl, more or less.”

Well, that was a truly horrifying thought. No wonder everyone seemed to hate and fear him in equal measure.

“What do you think having Maeglin back will do?”

“I think that if we leave him, and the Valar send him back on their own schedule, it would be a tossup as to which of his parents got there first. And I think we should all be afraid of the wrong outcome. You and I more than most, for I love Aredhel and you fear ‘Maeglin’”

Idril considered and, after a moment, moved over to her writing desk. In careful calligraphy, she spelled out her message.

_I, Idril Celebrindal, do hereby consent to the release of Maeglin Lómion from the halls of Mandos._

She searched through the drawers for a seal and some wax. Finding the second but not the first, Idril pressed her wedding ring into the wax instead. It would mark it as hers just as well, even if she would be picking wax out of the ring for weeks to come. She didn’t seal it closed, so Celegorm could read it as well, instead making her mark beside her name like she was her father making some text into law. She passed the letter to Celgorm, and said, “I’ll give my consent. But do not think I’ll come begging on his account, now or ever. And I expect you to keep him well out of my way. I don’t want to be seeing him at family parties or out in the streets, do you understand? Neither hide nor hair.”

Celegorm looked at the small piece of paper in his large hands, and then up at Idril. “I could ask no more of you.” He was halfway to the door before he tacked on, “Thank you, Idril.” And almost out the door before Idril called after him,

“I won’t tell my father. But you should convince Aunty to tell him. She’ll need his support, if this all goes awry.”

\--

Aredhel stuck the dummy with a quiver full of arrows, methodically placing them where its eyes, heart, and sex would have been, had it been possessed of any of these three things. She shot until her quiver was empty, and then fruitlessly wished for more. None appearing, Aredhel crossed the field to retrieve her arrows.

“Is it satisfying?” Oromë asked. She waved her hand, and the dummy took on a startling resemblance to Eöl.

“More satisfying now.” Aredhel pulled one of the arrows out of the heart, and stabbed it through the dummy’s neck. The thing jerked and swung erratically, a hanged-man’s dance. It was a disconcerting sight.

Oromë swung herself up onto the lowest branch of a nearby tree, and Aredhel, with some effort, joined her. Apparently, they were done with shooting for the day.

“How are you holding up?” Oromë asked, clasping Aredhel’s shoulder in a friendly manner.

Aredhel leant into her. “I’m alright, I suppose. I don’t think he’ll get within a mile of me without someone putting an arrow through him. And if I’m the one who does that- well, so be it.” This was, roughly, fifty percent bluffing for Oromë’s sake and fifty percent bluffing for her own.

Oromë ran her fingers through Aredhel’s hair. It was a surprisingly gentle touch, for one who was a warrior and a hunter.

“It’s not just that you’re afraid of him though?” Oromë muttered, soft as the wind in the trees.

“No, it’s not. If I was just afraid of him, I’d be an idiot. I know that Celegorm wouldn’t let him hurt me. I know that you and Vána wouldn’t let him hurt me.” This had been deflection as surely as the last had been, but Oromë didn’t call her on it.

“Then what worries you?”

Aredhel sighed, a little sadly. “Everything worries me, Oromë. But I guess in this case, I’m scared of two things. I’m scared of myself, of what I’ll do, and I’m scared of my family. Oh- and I’m worried about Lómion, I suppose. But I’m always worried about Lómion.”

Oromë made a protective noise in the back of her throat, and hugged Aredhel close. “You wouldn’t go back to him. You know what he is.”

“I know that he’s my husband, Oromë. I mean, what kind of elf am I? Who doesn’t love their spouse? This is my one shot at being loved, and I wasted it on Eöl.”

“Fuck that.” Oromë snapped. Aredhel looked up at her. “Quendi marriage culture is bullshit. Who decided that you only get one shot at love?”

“Eru, I think.”

“Then explain to me why Fingon and Finwë are allowed to remarry when you aren’t. No, seriously, Aredhel. Explain it to me, because I don’t understand why they get to be happy but you don’t.”

Pulling away, Aredhel said, “well, they married people who were willing to step aside, and I didn’t. Simple as that, I guess.”

Oromë snorted. “I would hardly refer to what Míriel did as stepping aside.”

“Well, she’s stayed out of Indis’s way, hasn’t she? Do you think Eöl would be so charitable to anyone I wanted to marry?”

“No, but I don’t think that should stop you. I think you should find someone new to love. Or don’t, and know that not everyone has to be with the person they’re married to. More than one of Celegorm’s brothers aren’t.”

But that was the problem, of course. Aredhel couldn’t be with the person she was married with, couldn’t find someone new to love, and didn’t want to be alone. She begrudged Celegorm no happiness, but of all her closest friends and kin, Vána was now the only one who wasn’t in a romantic relationship, and she didn’t want to be in the way Aredhel wanted it. It was a little lonely.

“Who am I going to find to love? I’m a married mother of a traitor with issues up to my neck.”

Oromë gave her a quizzical look. “Celegorm is an rage-driven kinslayer with issues up to his neck, and I’ve never loved anyone more.”

This was, technically, true. “Case may be. But imagine how Lómion would feel about it. He’s jealous by nature. Or maybe by nurture. If he came back and I’d moved on, it would hurt him.”

Oromë said nothing, but Aredhel could practically hear her thinking. It was horrid, and Aredhel knew that. She knew it was broken and dysfunctional and everything that had always been wrong with her relationships with both her husband and her son. But she couldn’t fix it without Lómion there. And so, she couldn’t fix it. Maybe not now, maybe not ever.

“Look, can we just talk about something else right now?” Aredhel asked, knowing that Oromë was going to agree.

“I’m going to introduce Celegorm to Nessa and Tulkas.” Oromë declared, without so much as a breath.

“What brought that on?”

Oromë swung her legs as she spoke, “I don’t know, really. Tulkas and Nessa invited me to visit, but I could show up at any time and be welcomed by them, so that isn’t really it. Maybe it’s that Celegorm has been spending more time with his non-Curufin brothers lately. It makes me miss Nessa, but I don’t know how much longer I can go on, lying to her. I just- I want to introduce my sister to the love of my life.”

“So why haven’t you before now?” Aredhel asked.

“Because, if they don’t like him, I ruin any chance of my kin ever becoming fully reconciled with your family. And that is an incredible amount of pressure to put on a single first encounter. I know that some of my kin won’t like him. Won’t like our relationship. Námo, Manwë. But they’re not those I’m closest to, and all they have to do is tolerate Celegorm’s existence from afar. Nessa and Tulkas have to actually like him.”

“That is a truly terrifying prospect,” Aredhel said, with the perspective of someone who actually liked Celegorm. “But consider this: you and Vána both love Celegorm, albeit in very different ways, and Nessa and Tulkas both love you. If everyone in the situation is happy, they’ll be happy for you. Even if they don’t like Celegorm right away. And as for the rest of your kin, well, I think they’re finally warming up to us. It’s not going to be all riding on you and Celegorm.”

“I hope you’re right.” Oromë said, and Aredhel hoped so too. Because if she wasn’t, it wasn’t just Oromë who had something to lose.

\--

It was often said that the home of Tulkas and Nessa was a place of great revelry. Whether or not this was sometimes true, Celegorm had no way to know. This was his first and, at the rate of success they were having, probably his only visit. It was, as Vána and Oromë’s main dwelling was, a good distance from Tirion, deeper into Valinor by some days ride. The walls were fine marble, and most of the space was open air courtyards. Aesthetically, Celegorm liked it well enough. But the company left something to be desired.

“And that is how I wrestled the beast to the ground, with nothing but my bare hands saving her from its frightful jaws,” One of Tulkas’s followers concluded, wrapping up an elaborate story with very little actual substance.

Celegorm had not been invited to lunch with the lord and lady of the house, which made a sort of sense. After all, neither Tulkas nor Nessa had reason to suspect him of being anything other than a particularly obstinate member of Oromë’s train. But they had gone inside some hours ago, and in all that time, no word had come for Celegorm. He was beginning to worry.

“Ah, but the new fellow won’t want to hear about something so dull,” another one of the followers was saying through a somewhat bushy beard. Thank Eru. “He’ll want to hear all about that time I brought down an iron gate with nothing but my bare hands winning a great victory against the forces of the enemy.” Oh Eru no.

Celegorm made some noises of polite interest, and let them assume he was an elf of few words. Across the courtyard, two of Nessa’s Maiar were performing some sort of dance, impossible jumps and bizarre contortions. There was no kind of music, giving the whole situation an eerie quality. Given the choice between them and these idiots, Celegorm would much rather have spent time with the Maiar. At least they had the good sense to keep their distance from these morons. It was a shame the same could not be said about Nessa herself.

Almost two hours later, the massive door which lead to the great hall began to swing open. Before it was wide enough for Tulkas to even squeeze through, Nessa had flitted over to Celegorm’s side. Her movements were uncanny, sometimes flitting so quickly the eye could not even follow them, other times as graceful as a bird in flight. She had an all-together ethereal quality, penetrating silver eyes set in an ebony face, neither as pointed as one of the Quendi nor as soft as a mortal. Her blue robes moved around her, swirling as in a non-existent wind. She bore little physical resemblance to her sibling at the moment, though in character they were said to be far more similar.

“It’s good to have you here, Celegorm,” Nessa told him, offering him her hand as she did so.

Celegorm bowed and kissed her hand in the old manner, though such greetings had long since fallen out of fashion. “It’s good to be here, my Lady.”

“Please, call me Nessa.” She smiled at him. Behind her, Tulkas and Oromë had finally managed to open the doors to their fullest extent, and were beginning to plod their way across the courtyard. Oromë was in one of their less common forms, a moriquendi male, which Celegorm strongly suspected he no longer became often for Aredhel’s sake. The form bore an uncommon resemblance, Celegorm now knew, to Eöl. It was the same curtesy Oromë offered Celegorm with Lúthien’s form. An unreasonable burden he bore for love of them both.

As they finished crossing the courtyard, Tulkas turned his beady eyes on Celegorm’s inadvertent torturers. “Which fool tales did you regale the poor lad with?” He demanded, voice as rumbling as that of a mountain.

The elves- and Maiar- surrounding Celegorm began to crack. Soon, they were all laughing, and explaining that this was some sort of tradition. If one of them managed to make a new visitor or recruit leave or yell with their storytelling, they won some kind of prize. Alcohol, probably.

Celegorm, feeling somewhat put upon, told them, “Please, I have six siblings. Nobody else could ever be as irritating.”

The conversation might have gone on in this vein had Oromë not intervened. “Perhaps some privacy, Nessa?” He asked. She nodded, solemnly, and, seizing Celegorm’s hand, led him inside. Oromë and Tulkas followed like an honor guard, and swung the massive doors shut behind them.

Once they were in private, Oromë seemed to relax. He squeezed Celegorm’s shoulder encouragingly and whispered, “it’s going well,” into his ear.

And thank the Valar for that. “Thanks.” Ha. Literally.

Nessa led them into a more private part of her home, through corridors and passageways almost too small for Tulkas to fit through. Then, at the last, they emerged onto a secluded terrace which, Celegorm reckoned, would once have been turned to catch Laurelin’s light perfectly. Even now, the view was extraordinary. Out over leagues of untouched forest, flowering meadows, and a wide river. There was a jug of wine on the table, and four glasses. Three had been drunk from already, making the clean one Celegorm’s. He sat in front of it, which put him between Oromë and Tulkas, across from Nessa.

Tulkas poured him a glass, with a surprisingly elegant flourish. Celegorm had always imagined him as big and dumb as all of his followers. But would Oromë really like someone so witless? Then again, he was in love with Celegorm so perhaps that was all that needed to be said on the matter.

“So, you’re Fëanáro’s third son, is that right?” Nessa asked, which wasn’t either the worst or the best opener Celegorm had ever gotten.

“Yes, that’s right. But that’s not why I’m here. Obviously.” Celegorm tried to deflect by taking a drink of his wine, with little success.

“No,” Tulkas rumbled, “You’re here to meet the in-laws.”

“Tulkas,” admonished Oromë.

“It took you seven millennia to introduce us, Oromë,” Nessa interjected, with a tender smile on her face, “We’re allowed a little teasing.”

Oromë shook his head, but muttered, “Fine.”

Celegorm, seeing a sudden opportunity, asked, “does that mean that my siblings are allowed the same? Because I have to tell you, I have more than one who would relish the opportunity.”

Nessa smiled, wickedly. “I’m sure Oromë could take it, assuming it wasn’t all six of them. How do you manage having that many siblings? I, personally, find the one a challenge.”

Oromë pinched her in the side, or tried to. His hand passed right through the spot where she had been a millisecond before, and as soon as Oromë’s hand has withdrawn, she was back where she’d started like nothing had happened. Nessa the Swift indeed. Celegorm could not help but grin in amusement

“I don’t know, I guess I’ve always done it. What’s it like not having any siblings to keep your other sibling in check?”

Nessa laughed, knowingly. “True enough!” Then, she turned to Oromë. “Well, it’s a pass from me. Tulkas?”

Tulkas watched Celegorm carefully, then he began to fire questions at a rate that his wife would have admired. “Are you ashamed of your actions in Beleriand?”

“Some of them.”

“Are you ashamed of Oromë?”

“Never.”

“Of your siblings?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know them. And because I love them.”

“Who is the person you care about the most?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Why not?”

“Because love isn’t measured on one axis.”

Tulkas lent back in his chair. It creaked concerningly. “I agree. Bravo.” Perhaps he was not so dull witted after all. Celegorm wondered if Tulkas was thinking the same about him.

Oromë gave a sigh of relief. “You bastard. I thought you promised not to do that.”

Tulkas shook his head and corrected, “I promised not to give him a test of strength. Tests of suitability and emotional fortitude don’t count.”

Celegorm snorted. “No kind of strength more important than the strength of the Fëa.”

There was a long, awkward silence, and then Nessa flitted across the table to give Celegorm a clap on the shoulder. “Quite right too. Well, now that we’ve established that we like you well enough, please, tell us a bit about yourself. I’ll admit that all I know is the famous story.”

Celegorm considered this. There was a lot he could say, a lot of places to start. With his mother, perhaps. Or Curufin. But there was one that was particularly on Celegorm’s mind of late.

“Well, my closest friend is Aredhel Nolofinwiel. If you’d made me choose one person I loved most in Arda, I would have been forced to pick between her, Oromë, and my brother Curufin. Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how to get her son Lómion released. Because I don’t understand why people like me and Eöl can be free, when he’s not.”

Oromë sucked in a breath. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“No, I didn’t,” Celegorm admitted, “There isn’t a lot to tell. All I’ve got is some advice from Fingon, and this.” He handed Idril’s note to Oromë, who read it, tracing a thoughtful finger over the mark of her ring in the wax. Celegorm had been keeping the note in his pocket for weeks now, letting it weigh on him like stone.

“Some might say that ‘life isn’t fair’,” Tulkas said, which was such a vague statement that Celegorm didn’t really know how to respond.

“Tulkas,” Oromë warned.

“They’d be right.” Celegorm managed, before Oromë could continue. “But I’m no philosopher. In fact, I’m about the last Fëanorion you’d want for that. All I can say is, if we don’t try to do better, then what’s the difference between us and Melkor?” He caught himself at the last second, and used the name the Valar preferred over any number of the Quenya or Sindarin curses he normally would have used. Unfortunately, he didn’t catch himself before he’d started that whole train of thought in the first place.

There was an extremely awkward silence. Nessa looked into her cup, as if contemplating downing the whole thing. Tulkas stood, and walked to the edge of the terrace. Oromë handed Celegorm back Idril’s note, and moved to stand beside Tulkas. He whispered a couple of words in Valarin, but Tulkas said nothing in return. Celegorm felt guilt pulsing through his veins. Even now, even after all these years, the Valar didn’t speak of their darkened kin. It was an instinct Celegorm understood. After all, it would be much, much easier to never speak of your problems. But Celegorm’s kin had made a decision Oromë’s never had: to confront the spirits that haunted them.

“You’re right.” Nessa said, into her glass. They all turned to look at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to touch your thoughts without consent. But sometimes I can’t help it. I don’t have Oromë’s control.”

“What is he right about?” Tulkas asked, voice thick with something that could have been rage or grief.

Nessa looked up at him. “We don’t confront our ghosts. We let them rule us. Melkor holds more sway over our minds and hearts now than he ever did when he was here.”

“We’re learning.” Oromë muttered, voice soft. Celegorm wanted to go to him, but forced himself to remain seated. “I- I could never have forgiven Celegorm if we hadn’t confronted our mistakes. And Námo could never have released any of Fëanor’s house if he hadn’t learned something from the past.”

“Aulë speaks to my family.” Celegorm added, more to himself than anything. “Even to my father. I think they’re closer now than they were before. And Ulmo speaks with Maglor, sometimes. He won’t talk about it, but we all know he does. It’s a little hard to miss when he walks into the ocean every so often.”

Nessa’s hand was vibrating, and she had to put down her wine glass. Tulkas walked over to her and seized her hand, which was tiny between his massive palms. In his strength, the unwilling motion stopped.

“It’s not fast enough.” Nessa muttered.

“Nothing is fast enough for you,” Oromë told her, in that lovingly weary way only a sibling can.

“It’s not fast enough,” Nessa repeated. “This isn’t the Years of the Lamps. Time matters now, and, in the grand scheme of things, we have little enough of it left.”

It was always a little disconcerting to remember that your lover and his family measured time on a geological scale.

“My heart,” Tulkas began, at the same time as Celegorm said, “My lady,” They blinked awkwardly at each other before Tulkas nodded for Celegorm to continue.

“My lady, there are no words for what your caring about this means to me. But please believe me that you have already come so far. My father lives, and I know that none of your kin like him, but I remember how hard it was for Maedhros to get here. Even in these last centuries, there has been so much change.”

“For the better?” Nessa asked.

Celegorm thought of Curufin, coming back from speaking with Aulë for the first time in this brave new world, and his genuine surprise that the Master Smith still wanted to talk to him, to see his work, despite everything he’d done. He thought of Maedhros, with two hands and bright smiles. Of Aredhel, who felt more comfortable with Oromë and Vána than she had with any elf outside her family in millennia. Of Oromë, in a hundred forms over the centuries, but in each one both fundamentally the same and fundamentally different. Of their relationship, which has replaced a foundation of miscommunication and half-truths with honesty and loyalty and trust.

“For the better,” Celegorm repeated, and then he began to cry, which would have been humiliating if Nessa hadn’t been sobbing too, into her husband’s massive shoulders. Tulkas looked teary eyed as well, and soon Oromë had the only dry eyes in the room.

“What do we do?” asked Oromë, to the room in general.

When it became clear neither Nessa nor Tulkas would answer, Celegorm said, “I finish what started with Caranthir. I bring Maeglin Lómion back. And you speak to your kin. Confront your own demons, and each other’s.”

“Will that help?” Tulkas asked. Celegorm took a moment to revel in the baffling fact of his advising Tulkas about anything.

“Some days it will hurt. Some years it will hurt. But better to clean a wound now than leave it to fester later.”

“Eru witness it,” Oromë intoned, and Celegorm was left with the lasting impression that something very important, life changing, had just happened.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aredhel visits Ecthelion, autocorrect tries to change Egalmoth to Goalmouth, and your dear author almost dies of editing because it SUCKS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo, so this chapter is pretty heavy on Aredhel-Eöl shit, so just like skip to the third segment, after the second -- if that’ll be triggering for you. Also, there’s a callback here to Born in Sunlight, in which Maedhros and Fingon host a secret council behind Elrond’s back, but you can read this without that just fine. Though also read that it’s good.

Aredhel let herself in the back door of Ecthelion’s cottage, taking care not to disturb the large cat which rested on the sun-warmed cobbles. She was a tabby, and despite Aredhel’s best efforts, she turned her head at the sound of the door closing. Whether she belonged to Ecthelion or was merely a guest, Aredhel knew not. She rarely paid visits to her friends among the Gondolodrim, and would not have been here if the situation were not desperate. But it was. Vána had been called away to consult with Yavanna on a matter of some import, Celegorm and Oromë were away visiting their kin, and so there was nobody around who knew that Eöl was back. This wouldn’t have been a problem if Aredhel hadn’t seen him twice at the corner of her vision in the last two days, and was convinced he was trying to corner her. But she did not think he would come look for her here. Ecthelion was not one of her kindred. In fact, he wasn’t even home. 

Aredhel would have locked the door from the inside, but most doors in Valinor didn’t lock. As the situation was, she could not bar the door with some kind of tool. It would not stop Eöl in a rage, and would stop Ecthelion from returning home. Instead, she went upstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. Running water, her brain noted unhelpfully, no less than one would expect from the Lord of the Fountain. Good. She’d be able to splash Eöl with warm water if he came for her. Excellent. 

In truth, Aredhel’s best defence would have been to take her bow, and climb a tree. But that would have committed her to doing violence, to spilling blood on the shores of Valinor. Nobody would have blamed her if she had, save Aredhel herself. Violence begets violence begets violence, her treacherous mind had repeated, again and again and again. If you hurt him, they’ll never let you have your son back. If you hurt him, they will cast you out, just as they cast your son out. You will never see him again. 

These unhelpful patterns spiraled down into the depths of despair until Aredhel heard the sound of the front door creaking open. She stopped breathing, felt her heart pounding against her chest. But no, it was Ecthelion. 

“Do you want some tea?” Ecthelion asked, not speaking to Aredhel, “I got this lovely blend from Valmar, and I’ve been just waiting for the right occasion.”

The guest murmured back something unintelligible. The voice was likely female, and wasn’t that just Aredhel’s luck? To catch a lifelong bachelor with a female guest who merited tea for ‘just the right occasion’. But still, she couldn’t stay hidden here while Ecthelion was entertaining. That would be cruel. So, instead, she unlocked the door with shaking hands, and began a long walk of shame down the stairs. Ecthelion had invited her to visit whenever she liked, but there seemed to Aredhel a long gap between receiving that offer and actually going to someone’s home when they weren’t there and letting oneself in. 

“Who’s there?” Ecthelion asked, before Aredhel had made it all the way down the stairs. 

“The usual culprit, when mischief befalls the Lord of the Fountain.” Aredhel said, keeping her voice as calm as she could manage. It didn’t work all too well. 

She emerged into the kitchen and there, sitting at the counter, was one of the top three people Aredhel wanted to see least in the world when she was at her most vulnerable. Idril Celebrindal. Idril was at rest, but at the sight of Aredhel, she seemed to close off, as she always did. She turned away, and made for the door. 

“What’s wrong?” Ecthelion asked, turning to look from one to the other and back again. 

“Nothing of import,” Aredhel told him, face coloured with shame. “I’ll be going now.” She turned to make her way out the back door, and tripped over the tabby cat. How had it gotten inside?

“Wife.” Of course, that would be the first thing Eöl would think to say to her, quirking his voice as though it was an endearment. Stupid, cowardly, arrogant swine. He reached down to help her off the floor, with a dashing smile and just a glint of mischief in his eye. The bond of their marriage sang out, calling to her. Aredhel pulled her hand away, and slid across the floor away from him. 

“Murderer,” Ecthelion retorted, emerging from the kitchen. “You would do best to leave now.” 

The trouble with Ecthelion, Aredhel reflected, was that he was all words and no talk, unless Turno ordered otherwise. Oh, when he took action it was formidable enough, but to attack someone on these shores? No. Ecthelion would never. 

“I need you, my sweet wife,” Eöl murmured gently, reaching out for her again. “Please, don’t leave me. I don’t know what to do without you.”

Idril, it seemed, had no such qualms. She didn’t say a word, but she had been standing with her back to Aredhel when Eöl had entered. As they spoke, she had crossed the room and, after Eöl made no move to leave, she kicked him, right between the legs. Eöl hadn’t seen it coming. He wouldn’t have. Idril was willowy, demure, and always dressed like a proper lady. 

“Stupid fucking bitch,” Eöl spat, thin veneer of dignity gone. He made to grab at Idril’s hair, which would have given him excellent purchase in a fight. Unfortunately, Idril ducked, Eöl overstepped, and Aredhel managed to stick out a leg to trip him. He sprawled out over the floor, and had to scramble to his feet with a roar.

“Eöl, just go,” Aredhel managed, fighting both love and murderous hatred inside her. “Please.”

Eöl, predictably, did no such thing. Idril struck him again. This time, when he went to protect his sensitive bits, she hit him in the face. 

“I believe that my lady aunt and the Lord of the Fountain asked you to leave,” Idril said, in the voice Turgon reserved exclusively for Morgoth and people who cheated at card games. 

Ecthelion seemed to come to his senses at mention of his name. When Eöl once again refused to leave, Ecthelion and Idril wrestled him out and slammed the door in his face. Eöl banged on it, hard, for a couple minutes. It must have bled his hands raw to do so. Once, Aredhel would have tenderly bandaged him after such an incident

“Estë’s mercy.” Ecthelion muttered, leaning up against the back door with all his weight. “A more stubborn, foolish creature I have never known.”

If he had been Celegorm, Aredhel would have joked that she was stubborn and more foolish both, and that like was drawn to like. As it was, given the circumstances, Aredhel felt it was more than appropriate to just roll over and weep. It was more truthful, certainly.

Idril stepped around Aredhel, and crossed to prop a preventative chair under the front door. “Does anyone else know he’s back?” She demanded, all business. 

Aredhel managed to nod her head. Ecthelion propped a chair under his door too, and moved to sit beside Aredhel on the floor. He did not lay a hand on her, but the quiet kindness warmed her heart. “Celegorm. Oromë and Vána.”

“And where is our illustrious cousin?”

Now there was a question Aredhel could not answer truthfully. Celegorm wanted his relationship with Oromë kept largely secret still. His family knew, and Oromë’s would soon, but neither Ecthelion nor Idril should. Celegorm hadn’t spoken to Idril at least since his rebirth, and possibly ever. They had been and remained staunchly on opposite sides of the slowly healing family divide. 

“He’s on a hunting trip with Lord Oromë.”

Idril pulled a hair tie out of her pocket, and began to tie her hair into what Aredhel recognized as a Sirion knot, a style of combat braid that made it very difficult to grab one by the hair.

As she worked, she said. “Well, that I suppose is a relief.”

Ecthelion took the tie from her, and held it while she used both hands. He asked, “and why exactly might that be?”

Idril, in a surprisingly practical reaction, returned, “Because it seems to me that Eöl is as likely to do harm to someone who would keep you from him as he is to do harm to you. Perhaps more so. But I cannot imagine that even Eöl would be as stupid as to try something in the company of Oromë.”

And that was true. Though Idril did not know it, there were several dozen of history’s finest warriors, both Maiar and elves, between Celegorm and Eöl, as well as Lord Tulkas, Oromë and Lady Nessa. He would be more like to achieve flight than to do harm to Celegorm. But it was a danger Aredhel had never considered. For though Celegorm was safe, and the one Eöl was likely to blame most, given the condition of his release, he was by no means the only member of Aredhel’s family against whom Eöl would hold a grudge. 

Aredhel, with an effort that seemed to take all her strength, rose to her feet. “Your father, Idril. Where is he?”

Idril swore violently, the contradiction of which was more than amusing to Aredhel, given her looks and usual manner. But then again, she had been a warrior in her own right, married to a mortal. Why would she not know a great number of curses?

“What?” Ecthelion demanded. It was not his fault he was unable to follow their unruly thoughts. 

Idril snatched her hair tie back and secured the knot. “Eöl is angry. He’s unstable. But he can’t reach Aredhel, and he can’t reach Maeglin. Who else do you suppose he resents?”

Ecthelion didn’t swear, but he did disappear up the stairs, and return carrying a sword and a combat bow. 

“Do I even want to know why you have these?” Idril asked, but she took the sword nonetheless. 

“They’re Glorfindel’s. He didn’t want them so I just sort of kept them in storage.” He passed the combat bow to Aredhel and, disappearing again for a moment, returned with his hunting bow.

This was the first proper weapon Aredhel had held in over a century. Designed for efficiency, not for the sport. Good grip, easier to draw than the bows she usually used. Sindarin make, possibly. Bows were not the usual weapon of the Noldor. Too much wood, not enough steel. But Aredhel had now trained with a bow far longer than she had ever worked with a sword, under the guidance of Oromë themselves. 

“What do we do if Eöl is there?” Aredhel asked, to no one in particular. There was a part of her that wanted to hear the worst. To know that this would end with Eöl dead, one way or another. But to inflict that violence on her friend or her niece? What monster would wish such a thing?

Idril spoke like a commander. “You go get my parents out. We’ll deal with Eöl.” She swung her sword in a wide practice swing, cutting a candle on Ecthelion’s table clean in two. Glorfindel’s blade was long for her, but Idril held it with the careful attention of someone who knew how to defend themselves. 

It wasn’t the answer Aredhel had wanted exactly, but Idril’s tone brokered no argument. Eöl was nowhere in sight when they got out, and somehow, that was not comforting. They made good time to Turgon’s home, and, when their knocking on the door received no response, they burst through to discover her eldest brothers and both of their spouses in quiet conference about the kitchen table. They were alright. Unhurt. Aredhel took a quick inventory of the room, and began to weep, dropping her bow to the floor and collapsing beside it. To her not insignificant surprise, it was Maedhros who was at her side first. 

They might not have been friends, but Aredhel had always rather respected Maedhros. He was smart, and kind, and he seemed to never let his sorrows rule him. Aredhel and Maedhros were in this last regard, opposites. Aredhel could not help but be defined by Eöl, by Lómion. It was all she had ever been. In the matter of loved ones, they were again opposites. Maedhros’s father, his brothers, were a tragedy, but his husband loved him, and his son was noble and kind. Aredhel’s father, her brothers, were honorable and genuine and pure, but her husband hated her and her son was a monster. 

He guided her though a complicated sort of breathing exercise, which made her feel ridiculous, but seemed to allow her racing heart to slow a little. Dimly, she could hear Idril and Ecthelion explaining the situation as they knew it. Maedhros paid them no mind, and followed his breathing exercised with a test that determined they were seeing something real. That last one was probably of more help to someone who’d had the fabric of reality pulled out from under them, for Eöl did not have the enemy’s literal skill at manipulation, no matter how it felt to be around him. But Maedhros was right. This was real. Eöl hadn’t hurt anyone else she loved. They were safe. 

“May I?” He asked, and, when Aredhel managed to nod, pulled her to her shaky feet. Her legs felt like sacks of rocks, and she could still hear her heart beating. “Aredhel, look at me, alright?”

She met his eyes. Like his mother’s, fair and hopeful, she thought. When she opened her mouth to say so, she instead said, “if he’d been here, I think I would have killed him,” and collapsed against Maedhros’s chest. It was fortunate that he was tall and strong, or else she might have taken him down with her. 

“Eöl?” He asked, and when Aredhel nodded, he asked instead, “where are Celegorm and Oromë? Surely they would not leave you to deal with such a thing alone.”

In slow, heaving breaths, Aredhel told him the whole story. She was dimly aware of the rest of the room focusing in on her, but she looked up at Maedhros and tried not to think too much of it. She censored herself from speaking the nature of Celegorm and Oromë’s relationship. Maedhros and Fingon knew, and the rest didn’t need to.

When she was done, Turgon said, “You ought to stay, all three of you, just for a few days.” Then he said something very wise about strength in numbers and community, but Aredhel wasn’t listening. She could feel her heart begin to seize in her chest again with fear, and though she tried to run through Maedhros’s breathing exercise again from memory, it did not seem to help much. 

Idril and Ecthelion agreed to stay, and Turgon and Elenwë went to show them to their rooms. This left only Aredhel, Maedhros, and his husband. Who was of course her brother, but somehow over the years that first relationship had become more defining of Fingon’s nature than the second. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Aredhel muttered, to neither of them in particular. 

“He’s seen worse,” Maedhros replied, with a dark sort of humor. 

Fingon made a grumbling sort of sound. “You’ve seen worse from me too, and with far less cause. Do not bother to deny it.” 

Aredhel turned her head slightly to stare at her eldest brother. He’d moved so he was sitting on the table, half folded in on himself so his elbows could rest on his knees. He was watching her in turn, but there was no pity there. In Idril’s eyes, in Ecthelion and Turgon’s eyes, there had been pity. 

“If cause was all that mattered, people would be no different from machines.” Maedhros retorted. Fingon seemed unable to think of a good answer to this, and instead just shrugged his shoulders. 

“You two always seem so… put together.” Aredhel muttered, though she tried to keep the resentment out of her voice. 

“So does Celegorm, to people who do not know him. But I rather suspect that you know better.”

And Aredhel did know better. She knew that Celegorm used all his strength, and all his bluster, to cover up a tender and easily wounded heart. It had never even occurred to her that Maedhros used his height, his status, his diplomatic demeanor, to pull off the same effect. But of course he did. Who didn’t, in times like these?

Fingon slid off the table, and crossed to place his hands on both her shoulder and Maedhros’s back. “To some degree, we are put together, now. But standing as close to our traumas as you still are to yours? Eru knows we were a mess.”

“That’s true too. I had a long time in Beleriand to come to terms with the fact that I might always be under threat from Morgoth. And then of course, I awoke here, and he was gone. Truly gone. We share no connection, no bond or children or anything to ever make me go anywhere near him until the end of Arda. You have never been afforded that luxury.”

“And I never will be.” 

The look on Fingon’s face at that was one of wickedness. Aredhel was beyond certain he was plotting something. 

\--

“I do rather hope that convening these crisis councils does not become a tradition,” Fingon announced, calling the second incarnation of the council to order. The topic and participants were slightly different- Nimloth, for example, had not been called to this council, where Argon had- but the sentiment and the hosts were the same. Last time, they had met for the sake of Sídhil and her family. Now, they met for the sake of Aredhel. It was Idril’s family, in both cases. 

“I second that,” Idril muttered, from her usual seat. This time, as opposed to an invitee, she had been one of the foremost organizers. 

This incarnation of the council was comprised of several non blood relations, in addition to the usual Nolofinwëan and Fëanorion presences. Fingon and Maedhros were there, reprising their roles as hosts, while Celegorm sat moodily to his brother’s right, and Turgon and Argon occupied the spaces between Fingon and Idril herself. On Idril’s left, Lalwen had made herself the final Finwëan of the group. Who had invited her, Idril knew not, but she would admit to being a little star-struck by the presence of her reclusive great-aunt. The non-family members had arrayed themselves around the other side of the table. Glorfindel and his husband Erestor, Ecthelion and Egalmoth, and, beside Celegorm, Lord Oromë in the form of a dark skinned mortal maiden. 

None of the Arafinwëans from last time were there. Galadriel and Finrod both had been delegated to watch over Aredhel by Turgon, along with Lady Vána. This was, perhaps, overkill. But having now seen Eöl, Idril could hardly fault the instinct. 

“If we never again call this council to order, I will be more than pleased,” said Maedhros, “but if it is needed, I say let us continue to call it. Thus, at least, we can solve our problems together.”

The look Egalmoth gave him was perhaps unnecessarily harsh. But then, Idril’s friend did have much reason to hate the sons of Fëanor. They all did. How her uncle, grandson, the Lord Oromë, and Aredhel for that matter, could be so close with them, Idril would never understand. She bore no tremendous amount of ill will towards most of Fëanor’s sons, but there as a difference between not hating them and loving them. Perhaps she merely had an unforgiving nature. Fëanor’s sons confused her, in their baffling contradictions, more than they made her understand them. Maedhros, who seemed so genuinely honorable but carried a killer’s instincts in his heart. Maglor, who was so easily pitied that it made him difficult to despise for his crimes. 

Last time, they had at least begun their discussion before Finrod had brought the subject of the discussion to attendance. This time, they had no more explained the topics on the table than Aredhel and her retinue had entered. 

“Who keeps telling Finrod about these things anyhow?” Idril’s father demanded, throwing his best friend an extremely dubious look.

“You love me for my honest and upstanding nature,” Finrod said, with a grin. 

There weren’t enough seats for all the newcomers, so while Galadriel claimed her own seat beside Lalwen, Finrod, Aredhel, and Vána were all left standing. 

“Come on,” Celegorm said, and Aredhel came up behind him. Like a scoundrel, he spun and pulled her into his lap.

Those in the crowd who knew Celegorm and Aredhel politely averted their eyes. According to Idril’s father, they had always been just on the wrong side of the border between appropriate and not. 

Vána squeezed in beside her spouse so they were both half perched on the same chair. Egalmoth made an effort to offer Vána his seat, but she waved him off with a laugh. This only left Finrod, who ended up perching on the arm of his sister’s chair. 

Thus arrayed, they returned to business. Having Aredhel there took the issue of Maeglin off the table, but they were still able to deal with Eöl. 

“So, I guess the key issues are how we deal with Eöl long term and short term.” Argon said, casting a glance at Aredhel.

Aredhel looked away, and instead it was Oromë who spoke. “Vána and I can deal with him for the moment, now that we know he was only waiting for us to leave. It will not be terribly difficult for one of us to stay. But we’d need a solution before Lord Manwë next called us to council, and that could happen at any time, though it likely will not in the next few years.”

“I am sure we could not impose,” Idril’s father said, regarding Oromë with some concern. 

Vána smile at him. “And equally, I am sure that it is not an imposition. We don’t have anything better to do with our time, to be honest, and I find this matter to be of… personal concern.”

Oromë, Aredhel and Celegorm seemed to know what she meant by that, and the rest were too cowardly to ask. 

“Well, that’ll do for the short term, but Eöl strikes me as unlikely to go anywhere. You can hardly pull shifts protecting me until Arda Remade.” Aredhel told them. 

“Watch me.” Oromë muttered dangerously. She laid a protective hand on Aredhel’s shoulder.

Idril interrupted. “My Lord, I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s hardly a practical solution.” Regardless of form, Lord was Oromë’s title. 

Fingon, in his usual role of mediator, extended his hands to the room. “Does anyone have a better long term solution?”

There was a long pause before Maedhros said, “banishment. I know you’re all thinking it, so I’ll say it. It worked on my father, might work on Eöl.”

Galadriel leant back in her chair. “Unlikely. Your father was banished by someone he respected. Loved. Eöl wouldn’t respect someone if they hit him in the face.”

Idril, as someone who had hit Eöl in the face, was inclined to agree. He seemed to her a person who loathed the idea that anyone might have greater power or skill than he did.

“What if instead of watching Aredhel, we delegated someone to watch Eöl?” Erestor asked Fingon.

Egalmoth shook his head. “And what sorry soul would we delegate to that? I cannot imagine wanting to commit such a great amount of time to a murderer.” He gave Maedhros and Fingon a bitter look again. 

“Watch it, Egalmoth,” Idril warned, before her better instincts could take over. She regretted it before the words were even out of her mouth, but the look of genuine shock on Maedhros’s face was more than worth it. 

“My lady, surely you can’t-” Egalmoth began, and oh, wasn’t that rich. He was more than welcome to dislike the sons of Fëanor, but this wasn’t about that. Eöl was a threat to all of them, and Egalmoth’s callous reaction was not helping.

“Egalmoth. Enough.” Idril snapped, effectively silencing the room. The ensuing pause was long and deeply awkward.

“Well then, my apologies,” Egalmoth muttered insincerely. 

Idril opened her mouth to chastise him for that too, but Aredhel beat her to it. “Down, Egalmoth. If you have a problem, speak your piece and be done with it.” 

Egalmoth bristled. “If I have a problem-“ he threw his hands in the air. “My problem is that he murdered me. Bloodily. Horribly. And apparently, I’m the only person who remembers that.”

As one, everyone turned on look at Maedhros. He looked down at his hands. “I can promise you, Egalmoth, that you’re not the only one who remembers. I never forget.”

“I very much doubt that,” Egalmoth snapped. “Why, I doubt you even know whose blood stains your hand. Sorry, hands.”

And Maedhros looked him dead in the eye and started listing names. Teleri names first, the dead of the First Kinslaying. Then Sindarin names, from the second, and a mix of Sindarin and Noldorin names for the third. Idril knew some of them from Gondolin. Others, she’d been introduced to years later by Elwing.

The group watched with a mix of horror and amazement as Maedhros finished. Then, as he turned from Egalmoth and took an inventory of the shock on everyone’s faces, he fled. Fingon was out of the room a half second later, already shouting Maedhros’s name. Aredhel would have gone after them too if Oromë hadn’t stopped her with a hand around her wrist. 

“Let them be alone,” she murmured. Idril thought that she seemed on the verge of tears. In fact, there were few dry eyes in the room.

“Did anyone know that he could do that?” Finrod asked the room at large. Everyone shook their heads. 

How? That was the question. It wasn’t as though Maedhros could have asked everyone’s names before he’d killed them. That meant that he had to have asked after he’d killed them. Idril couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. It would take a level of courage that she didn’t possess. An admiration she didn’t know she carried for Maedhros rose in her. 

“Egalmoth, if you ever speak to him like that again, he won’t be the son of Fëanor you’ll be worrying about.” Celegorm gave him a truly murderous glare. Aredhel put a hand on his knee, but given the glare she was giving Egalmoth in turn, it was not especially calming.

Egalmoth, who clearly had learned nothing of diplomacy in the centuries since his murder, said,  “Well, how was I supposed to know-” 

“Egalmoth, enough.” Idril’s father had plainly had it with Egalmoth. “If you are going to bear malice towards anyone, let it not be Maedhros. Bear it towards the enemy, or towards his father if you are so inclined. Or bear it towards Fingon, since it is entirely his fault you have to deal with Maedhros at any given moment. But let Maedhros be. He’s already suffered more than his share.”

This command from his king was finally enough to silence Egalmoth. He showed himself out, still in an ill temper, and left the remaining crowd with an equal number of seats and participants. At a wave from Vána, Finrod assumed Egalmoth’s seat, though he didn’t seem happy about it. 

“You know,” Lalwen said, looking at the space Maedhros had occupied and speaking for the first time that day, “one would think that after centuries of Maedhros constantly proving our assumptions about his character wrong, we’d learn.”

Aredhel looked down, digging her fingernails into her palms. “Could you forgive someone who was responsible for your death? I can’t forgive my murderer.”

Several different people all tried to correct her at once, about the comparison between Eöl and Maedhros, about personal responsibility, oaths and cold blooded murder, and Eöl’s attempted murder of Maeglin. Because Maedhros had not allowed even the oath to harm a child when it was in his power to prevent such a thing. 

Glorfindel cleared his throat, silencing the others. “Yes. I’ve thought about it a great deal, and the answer to your question is yes. For the responsibility he bears for my death, Maeglin- Lómion- is forgiven.”

Ecthelion, sitting at his side, nodded. “If you need someone who can speak to Námo for him, I would be willing.”

The room turned as one to look at Idril’s father. This had left him as the only person who had died at Gondolin and hadn’t spoken. He seemed almost amused. 

“As if it was ever even a question.”

Aredhel met his eyes, and immediately burst into tears. Celegorm held her close, and she buried her face in his fair hair. The universal conclusion seemed to be to feign indifference, and they all averted their eyes again. 

“If I may ask a question,” said Oromë, to the room at large, “how do you do this? I mean, speak to your family of the wrongs you’ve done each other, and learn to live with that history.”

“Badly.” Lalwen quipped. “I, for one, do it badly.”

They laughed, half at the joke, half at how bad it was. Then Galadriel answered Oromë’s question. “I, for one, do it as best as I can. You don’t have to like everyone. Don’t have to forgive everyone. I know that there are some things I shall never forgive. But you do have to listen to everyone. So Egalmoth’s problem was that he wasn’t listening. He was angry, and upset, but he didn’t want to hear what anyone else had to say. Conversely, Maedhros is a very good listener. He respects the people he’s wronged. Isn’t that right, Fingon?”

The table as one turned to look at Fingon and Maedhros, standing in the doorway. Idril realized that they’d both been crying, and Maedhros was holding tightly to Fingon’s arm. Her father stood and went to them. To the significant surprise of everyone in the room, he pulled Maedhros into a hug. 

“I am sorry for inviting him into your home,” he said. And yes, it had been her father’s idea to invite Egalmoth, despite his later regrets. Glorfindel had thought it an ill plan, but they’d deferred to the king. 

Maedhros awkwardly returned the embrace. “It’s alright. I’m alright.”

They released each other, and Fingon hugged his brother too. By some silent agreement, Argon and Aredhel stood and joined them. Celegorm, for his part, leant over Oromë and Vána, and whispered to Ecthelion and Glorfindel in low tones. That was probably some form of sacrilege. His arm wrapped around Oromë’s shoulders and draped over onto her breast, which was disgusting on a number of levels, and oh- oh, that was a horrifying thought. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Idril said. Everyone turned to stare at her, and she gestured at Celegorm and Oromë, who was sitting next to her spouse and looking positively pleased to be in the arms of a Fëanorion.

Vána laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Oromë swatted her playfully, and she doubled over, almost falling out of her seat with mirth. The laughter was infectious. Fingon snorted. Finrod actually giggled. Maedhros covered his mouth, but his eyes twinkled. 

“Wipe that stupid smirk off your face,” Celegorm told his brother. “Just because you got to hear about it in advance didn’t mean everyone else did.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” Maedhros retorted. 

Celegorm rolled his eyes. “No, you’re laughing at poor Idril. As though her reaction wasn’t perfectly normal. For shame, Nelyo.”

“For shame,” Oromë echoed, though she was giggling. The look Celegorm gave her was one of such fond irritation that Idril found herself smiling. She wiped it off her face as quickly as she could. Celegorm was a sexual predator having an affair with a married Valar. Wrong. Not charming or good.

“Celegorm, just explain before poor Ecthelion faints dead away,” Finrod managed. Ecthelion did seem very pale, though Idril thought he was looking at Aredhel, not at Oromë and Celegorm. 

Celegorm leant back in his chair. “Well, it’s a long story-”

Oromë cut him off. “Actually, can I talk to Lady Idril please? In private.”

Now what, exactly, could Oromë, the Lord of the Hunt want with her? Idril stood, smoothing her skirts, and followed Oromë out into the hallway. She had thought they would stop there, but instead the Vala led her out of the house entirely, and into the back garden.

“Celegorm and I have been together since before you were born, in case you were wondering. Vána has always known, and you should see this.”

Her form shifted. Feminine still, but clearly one of the Quendi. She bore, all of a sudden, a startling resemblance to Elwing.

“Lúthien.” Idril whispered, and knew it instantly to be true. “My lord, how long-“

“Since long before Lúthien herself was born. A coincidence, nothing more. But how could Celegorm have known that Thingol’s daughter and I were as close in looks as to be twins?”

Idril sat on the stone path that wound through the garden. Moss was growing around the stones, and a few daring plants were peeking out between them. As for the garden itself, it was well tended by someone’s careful hand. Maedhros or Fingon’s, she didn’t know. 

“I don’t understand how you can-” she broke off before she could say something offensive. 

“You don’t understand how I can love him. But that’s the wrong question. Celegorm is handsome, we share interests, he treats his friends and family well. The real question is how Celegorm can love me. My family has done such monstrous things to his, and I did nothing. I didn’t go to him. How he can have forgiven me for such a thing, I will never know.”

“I see,” said Idril, not seeing at all. 

Oromë shook her head. “No, you don’t, Idril. That’s the problem. People are far more complicated than you give them credit for. Sometimes good people do bad things, monstrous things. Sometimes bad people do things that are good, at least for you. You may ridicule Egalmoth, but in truth you are little better at understanding.”

She sat across from Idril, looking deep into her eyes. 

“What would you have me do differently?” Idril asked, since it would have been rude to tell one of the Valar to take a hike. 

“I would have you empathize with people. Idril, may I call you Idril?” She asked, interrupting herself.

Well, if everyone was determined to be informal, it was probably appropriate to just accept that. “Yes. May I call you Oromë?”

“Be my guest. Idril, what would you have done if your father had asked of you what Celegorm’s father had asked of him?”

“My father would not have asked such a thing.”

Oromë clenched her hands in apparent frustration. “See, that’s the problem. You can’t put yourself in other people’s positions. You are an incredibly lucky person. Your father is a person of remarkable nobility and strength of character, who loved you dearly and built a home for you in Beleriand that was safe, by Ulmo’s grace. His people liked and respected you, your husband loved and respected you, your son loves and respects you. That’s more than most get.”

It was a true enough observation, but it by no means captured the events as Idril had experienced them. “I lost my mother. I lost my father. I grew up in a state of constant fear. I survived the Helcaraxë by the skin of my teeth and at no small personal cost. I worked hard to keep Gondolin and its people safe and healthy and secure. I survived Maeglin, for all the good it did me. I survived losing Tuor, and I will never see him again. I am the only elf to have ever married a mortal, lost them, and survived. That is far, far less than most get.”

Oromë nodded, and her form slowly shifted back to the one that she’d begun the day in. “I’m sorry. I have some sense of what it is like to feel rather hopeless for the life of one you love, who you love despite the many differences between you.”

Underhanded, sneaky Vala. “My Lord, are you attempting to suggest that Celegorm and I are not so different?”

“No, I am merely attempting to suggest that we are all affected and defined by our circumstances. Your circumstances, both luck and loss, have made you as you are. Gracious. Strong. Giving. But Celegorm’s circumstances were not your circumstances. His parents were not your parents, and the circumstances under which he was parted from them were far different. But I ask you again, if your father had demanded that you swear such an oath as Celegorm’s, and you had had only the knowledge Celegorm possessed at the time, would you have sworn it?”

It was the question that the people of Beleriand had asked themselves more often than not. Idril had never let herself consider it too closely. Only sorrow lay down that road. But she let the question in now, let herself consider it. 

“I would have sworn it. I wouldn’t have had the knowledge to choose better. Would you have?” Turnabout was fair play. 

“I don’t have a father, in the sense the Quendi do, but as I understand the concept, yes. Yes, I would have sworn it. If I had trusted someone, respected them, as I know Celegorm respected his father, for all their differences, I would not have questioned them. And more, if I had been as consumed by loss as Fëanor was, with the whisperings of Melkor in my ears, I might have made rash choices with no understanding of the consequences as he did.”

Idril pulled her violet shawl tight around her, not for lack of warmth. Merely for the little comfort it offered. “It would be so easy to just deny Maeglin’s return. Mandos knows he doesn’t deserve it, and I don’t even think Aredhel could fault me if I did. Our feelings about Eöl and Maeglin are not so different. Save that I never loved Maeglin to begin with.”

“But you haven’t decided to do so. You wrote Celegorm that letter.” Oromë noted. Her dark eyes were kind, creased just at the edges in a manner that showed an age incongruous with the rest of her form. It made sense she would know about the letter, if her and Celegorm were as close as all that.

“I did write that letter, because I didn’t want Maeglin to become any more of a monster than he already is. I wrote that letter because it was the only way I would have any control. I didn’t want to help Aredhel. I didn’t care about Aredhel, save to resent her.”

Oromë gave her a critical look. “You must know that you are only proving my point.”

And Idril could see it. She knew it. “Perhaps I am little better than they are.” 

“And yet that is not true either. For though you do not understand them, you do not empathize with them, you treat them with respect. That is a skill most do not master. Fingon, Celegorm, they love Maedhros well. Even your father and great-aunt like him far better than you do. But you were the one to stand up for him, despite that. Do not think that just because there are things you could do better, there are not things you do well.”

“Nobody deserves to be ridiculed when they are trying to do good.”

“Nobody?” Oromë asked, voice as quiet as the wind. 

“Nobody. Not Maedhros, nor his brothers, nor his father. Not even Maeglin. Because he was not always monstrous, which is the worst thing about him. He became monstrous, more and more, as I rejected him.”

Oromë sighed. A large, grey cat, which had been sneaking through the garden for some time, came and curled up at her side. She scratched behind its ears. 

“Hello little hunter,” she said to the cat, and then to Idril, “Celegorm told me you don’t believe that the enemy had a material effect on Lómion.” 

Idril shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong, but that was a story I only heard years after, and never from people who were there at the time. I find it difficult to believe that they would know, and that I wouldn’t. I may not have liked Maeglin, but he liked me a great deal. Would I have really been unable to tell? Would he have kept it from me? I find it far easier to believe that those who followed him made it up to assuage their guilt in the matter.”

Oromë gave her a sad look. “It’s true. Take my word on that. As to how you didn’t know, well, you’ve met Eöl now. Do you think he would have left his son with the ability to be vulnerable?”

Idril, feeling some need to defend her error, said, “true enough, but I’ve also met Maedhros. I find it hard to believe that anyone should be able to hide the effect of the enemy on them.”

“I think you misunderstand Melkor. His aim is not always to do immediate and literal harm. Maedhros, to him, was a tool he could use to demoralize and weaken his brothers. His suffering needed to be a public spectacle, so that every elf in Beleriand would feel fear to think of him. It was not subtle. If Maedhros was a hammer, Lómion was a precision instrument, to use a Noldorin metaphor.  The aim of what happened to him to make him do exactly what he’d done. And that would never have worked if you’d known he was an instrument of the enemy.”

“If I had known, I could have saved him. I could have saved all of Gondolin,” Idril whispered. Despite the warm sun, her warm shawl, she shivered. 

“We all failed in that regard.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me. I’m the only person here who could have known, and did nothing because my kin and I had decided a course of inaction. If we had chosen differently, none of you might have suffered as you did. If I had lived my life better, Celegorm and I would have been together. He wouldn’t have sworn the oath, and perhaps his brothers would have made different choices too. If I had decided that Melkor was my enemy, and determined to fight him, there is not a person in that room who would not have lived a life of less pain. Even if I had made the same decision in the beginning, I could have changed my mind. I could have lessened any of the horrors of the first age, and I am certain that I could have stood against Sauron alone in the second and third. The Quendi were my people, more than they belonged to any of my kin. I found them, and taught them, and loved them. If anyone understands, perhaps it is Melian, and I so admired her, for making the choice I never had the strength to.”

Idril could think of no good answer to this. Fëanor had long railed against the Valar for their inaction, for their direct opposition to the success of the fight against Morgoth. But that was always his cause, never that of Idril’s family. Ulmo had acted, in his way, Ulmo had helped them. 

While Idril pondered this quandary, she failed to notice softly approaching footsteps until Celegorm said, from right behind her, “You didn’t fail us, Oromë, and I don’t blame you for any of it. Never doubt that. Of all the things I am grateful for in my life, that you escaped the suffering of life in Beleriand ranks among the highest.”

“As though it could be called an escape when it took the one I loved from me,” Oromë retorted, and Celegorm stepped around Idril to kiss Oromë on the mouth. 

Idril felt tremendously like an intruder. She looked away, running her fingers along the edges of the stones that made up the path. They were rough, though not jagged enough to cut. 

“Well, we shall just have to agree to disagree then,” Celegorm murmured, lips still too close to Oromë’s for polite company. 

Oromë hummed in agreement. “Why are you here, Celegorm?”

Celegorm finally pulled away, and dropped to a seat beside Oromë. “I wanted to thank Idril, for everything she’s done today.” He met Idril’s eyes. “I know you don’t like me, and your reasons not to are good ones. But you have been kind to my friend, and kind to my brother, in spite of all the things we are to you.”

Idril considered this, she considered what Oromë had said to her, about the fact that she never listened to people, and she considered how her heart rebelled at the thought of gratitude from Celegorm. “Since I missed your story inside, would you tell me it? And would you tell me what you know of Aredhel’s?”

The grin Celegorm gave her was as bright as the sun shining off his fair hair. 

\--

Statistically speaking, getting drunk with your husband, your best friend, and your king was probably not a thing most people did. And most people probably didn’t do it after appealing the release of the Traitor of Gondolin from Mandos. But Glorfindel had always been one for defying the odds. 

“You know, I used to think Maeglin and I could have been friends,” Erestor was telling Turgon. He’d had more to drink than the rest of them, per pound, and it was showing. “It was fucking complicated to be young, and intelligent, and alone in Gondolin. It was supposed to be the only place in Beleriand without people like us.”

Erestor didn’t talk about his time in Gondolin much. Like Idril, he’d been a child across the ice, though he had lost both parents, not just one. From then, he’d bounced around from one guardian to another (interestingly, not only followers of Fingolfin), until he’d been inadvertently taken when Gondolin was completed by his caregiver at the time, and had ended up there. 

“What do you mean people like you?” Turgon asked. He was leaning up against their kitchen table, and, if he leant an inch or two further, he’d hit his head on the hanging light. 

“People who were alone,” Erestor told him mournfully, and drank. 

This seemed to make Turgon very sad. He gave Erestor his best version of Idril’s baleful face. “Nobody should have had to be alone. I didn’t want anyone else to be alone. But I didn’t do a very good job. We were all alone. I was alone, you were alone. Maeglin- Lómion- was alone. Idril was alone. Aredhel was alone. That was why she left me.”

Ecthelion patted him gently on the shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

Turgon turned the baleful face on him. “But it isn’t. Aredhel’s still alone. Idril’s alone, again. And I can’t do anything about it.”

Glorfindel, feeling it was his place to step in, said, “you did something about it tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all Celegorm. He’s done a better job helping Aredhel through this than I ever could’ve. A better job than I even tried to. What kind of a brother am I?”

It seemed that Turgon was, at least on this occasion, a very unhappy drunk. Glorfindel continued with his intervention. “Not so bad a brother, I think. I don’t know Fingon or Argon to have any complaints.”

“They should. I didn’t look after them either. Atar would have wanted me to, and I didn’t. I didn’t look after any of them. Three siblings killed and me left sitting behind my walls all alone. Who can say the same?”

“Galadriel.” Erestor muttered into his cup, unhelpfully. 

Ecthelion, more helpful, said, “it is not so grim as all that, your Majesty. Idril has her son, her parents, and her friends, and even a grandchild, two great-grandchildren, and a great-great-grandchild. And Aredhel has Celegorm, yes, who she has relied on because they are the best of friends. You have Finrod just the same, I know.  And Aredhel also has Oromë and Vána for friends, as well as us, when she needs us, so perhaps she is the best off of the lot of us.”

Turgon nodded sadly, and slumped into one of the seats at the table. Erestor, who was committed to speaking more than was good for him, said, “you know, I thought you didn’t like me very much, at first.”

“Who?” Ecthelion asked. Glorfindel couldn’t tell if he was the most sober of the bunch, or if he was just the most articulate drunk. 

“All of you. I mean, I didn’t really meet you two-” Here he gestured to Ecthelion and Turgon. “-until I got here. You were there, but you didn’t know me and why would you have? You were great lords. I was just… Erestor.”

In point of fact, Erestor had been of more status than most in Gondolin. He’d been already a scholar and author of some note in that time. If he and Ecthelion had moved in different circles, it was a quirk of chance more than of destiny.

“But you thought we wouldn’t like you for that?” Turgon moped, and slumped to rest his head on the table. Really. Perhaps this was why the king had always cultivated a reputation for an ascetic nature. 

Erestor slumped down to match him. “No, I thought you didn’t like me for marrying Glorfindel. A more traditionalist group of people than yours, I have never met.”

That was harsh, but not impossible. For where his siblings and Arafinwëan cousins had been quite liberal mind by both nature and nurture, Turgon was not and as far as Glorfindel knew, never had been. Even within Fëanor’s house and among their followers, a strong strain of rebellion against the more traditionalist Noldorin marriage practices had always existed. Maedhros and Celegorm were more than proof of that (What proper elf would accept their beloved wedding another?). As for the Sindarin and Silvan elves, well, they had never had the Noldorin and Vanyarin traditions. If Erestor had ever lived among the Vanyar, he might feel differently. But that was unlikely to be true now. Even they had come far since the first age.

“I know.” Turgon muttered into the table. “Aredhel says that Celegorm and I were probably switched at birth.”

That would explain a lot, actually. The hair, for one. It was in neither Fëanor nor Nerdanel’s lines that Glorfindel knew. But from Indis’s house, it would have been far less out of place, though still singular in being more Sindar-white than Vanya-gold. It would also have explained Turgon’s conservative marriage views, if such things were defined by blood, which was probably why Aredhel had said it. Meanwhile, in a family with Fingon and Maedhros, Aredhel and Eöl, and ever-single Argon, Celegorm and Oromë would have been exactly average in terms of romantic success. Fëanor and Nerdanel, for their part, would have probably appreciated having one consistently stable, traditional and happy marriage in the family. 

“It’s just… stupid,” Erestor told him, losing his usual verbosity, and drank.

Ecthelion leant over to Glorfindel. “Do you suppose we ought to stop them?” 

Glorfindel merely shrugged in reply. Turgon had few friends who were willing to tell him honestly of his flaws. To be precise, he had one friend, Finrod. If Erestor was in the sort of mood and level of intoxication that allowed him to be honest with someone he viewed as an authority figure, well, then, who was Glorfindel to stop him? Previous moments of inhibition had led Erestor to such memorable actions as demanding promotions from Gil-galad, propositioning Glorfindel (in the Silvan manner. They’d both been highly scandalized about this for years after the event), and, more recently, telling Elrohir to act upon his feelings regarding Iswen. 

“It is stupid,” Turgon agreed, tilting his head up to look at Erestor. “I should’ve done it differently. Should have done better. Would have made Fingon’s life easier. Might have saved Aredhel. Maybe she’d have come home sooner if she’d known I would never in an age have valued Eöl’s claim on her over her own desires. Would have helped you.”

And mortals say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. “Why, your majesty, are you suggesting you no longer hold the first marriage as defined by what you view as conventional sexual practices to be the only acceptable form?”

“Too many words.” Erestor told him, which was a sure sign he would be retreating into Irmo’s arms soon. 

Ignoring Erestor and Glorfindel both, Turgon pulled himself straight. “I was a bad king. Bad. Nobody was happy. Everybody died. And it was all my fault.”

This was patently not true. Gondolin had been far and away the most successful realm of the first age, save perhaps Doriath, and Turgon hadn’t sent his own daughter away on a doomed quest, nor had he allowed greed to rule him. It simply hadn’t been perfect. 

“Shut up.” Ecthelion snapped. Everyone’s attention snapped to him. He was standing like a commander, confident and poised. “You made mistakes. Yes. It may come as a shock to you, but there is not and has never been a ruler who made consistently perfect decisions. Finwë could not see his sons falling apart in front of his eyes. Fëanor was overzealous and jealous and furious and obsessive. Maedhros was unable to lead, Maglor was unwilling to lead, and your father decided a mad suicidal run against the enemy with no discernable back up plan was the best of all possible courses of action. Fingon was unmotivated by the crown. You valued your own people and traditions over the greater cause, as did Thingol. Gil-galad has all the diplomatic instincts of a particularly reactionary horse, Ingwë hasn’t left Valmar since he first arrived there, and Manwë himself allowed this whole mess with Morgoth to begin with.”

“Heresy.” Glorfindel and Turgon murmured at the exact same time. Erestor, for his part, had fallen asleep in the middle of this tirade and said nothing at all.

“Truth. Few will speak it or even think it but if I do not speak the truth, let me be struck down.” There was an awkward silence, in which Ecthelion was not stuck down by the Valar. Whether this was because they agreed or hadn’t heard, Glorfindel could not have said. He was now personally familiar with more Valar than most, and the scope of what they did and did not perceive continued to baffle him. 

Turgon, at the end of this pause, laid his head down on the table beside Erestor, and joined him at rest. 

Glorfindel could not help but say, “it is a very good thing no one knew the king was a lightweight in Gondolin, or we would have accomplished very little.”

Ecthelion snorted. “You know, we used to water down his wine at any sort of event.”

Glorfindel didn’t know, but having now seen Turgon drunk, he was not surprised in the least. He cleared Turgon and Erestor’s glasses, and carried Erestor over to the couch. It was probably a little disrespectful to move Erestor and not Turgon, but some actions had to be taken to preserve one’s marriage, and Erestor would entirely blame Glorfindel for allowing him to sleep in such a pose. 

“Do you really blame the Valar for what happened?” Glorfindel asked, when he had returned. Ecthelion had made no efforts to move Turgon, but he had given the king a pillow, which was something. 

Ecthelion shook his head. “I don’t blame them, any more than I blame any of us. Perhaps a little less than I blame Fëanor. But we have all been held accountable for what we did. And they never were. I believe that they are coming to realize that, in time. Having now actually met Vána and Oromë, I imagine they have regrets none of us shall ever know about. I just wish we could tell all of them that, and they could admit to themselves the mistakes they’ve made, and the consequences they’ve suffered as a result.”

Glorfindel thought of his first meeting with Vána, years ago now. Of her remarkable empathy.  “I think they will realize it. In time.”

“As Eru wills it.” Ecthelion invoked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, I literally have no idea what I’m updating because nothing is done and I’m dying so pretend I’m just planning to keep you on your toes instead of being literally the worst at this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maeglin finally appears in a story that is literally titled ‘Maeglin’ on my home computer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has a lot less Aredhel and Eöl than the last chapter (thank fuck) and a lot more Maeglin and Idril. Make of that what you will, and govern yourself accordingly. Not nearly as painful though. Promise. It is, however, VERY LONG, a fact about which I am only kinda sorry.

She went to Fingon with the letter, because of all her siblings and friends, he best knew what it was to love someone who was hated. She read it over three times before she left, checked the seal for some sign of falsehood or tampering, and disassembled the envelope looking for signs of the same. She found none. 

Fingon, upon seeing it, allowed joy to transform his face. Not joy at the news of Lómion’s return. He didn’t know Lómion. But joy at what it meant for Aredhel. That was enough. With a shout, he tackled her into a hug. Maedhros came out of the kitchen at a sprint. He didn’t need to see the letter- Fingon had seen it for the both of them.

“Aredhel!” He shouted, and grasped one of her hands. 

“Maedhros!” Aredhel returned. The look of genuine, uncompromised excitement on his face was infectious. She couldn’t help but laugh gleefully. 

Fingon laughed too. “Aredhel!”

“Fingon!” 

Fingon, pulling back, clapped his hands together and announced, “Drinks. We need drinks.” He slipped off, calling over his shoulder, “it’s a tradition, don’t ask!”

Before Aredhel could even ask- which she would have done, regardless of Fingon’s instructions- Maedhros explained, “He got very drunk with my mother when they first found out about my return. That was when he learned that she knew all about us being together, and I think he’s been wanting to pass on the favor since.” 

Aredhel, genuinely curious, raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you also have some kind of notable information about my love life for me?”

Fingon returned with a very nice crystal decanter of brandy, and three crystal glasses. They were beautifully crafted, and very Noldorin. 

“Nothing about your love life,” Fingon told her with a self-satisfied smirk. Oh that smug bastard. What did he know that she didn’t? Why was he teasing her with the idea of it? He’d always done that, and it had always driven Aredhel mad. Though he’d done it far less as they had gotten older, and the secrets they kept had become more serious. Now, he only really did it when there was very good news. 

Maedhros took the tray from him, and placed it gently on the living room table. “Don’t be like that, Finno. Aredhel, you must know we’ve all been conspiring behind your back for some time.”

You’d think walking in on a secret conference held in your name would be a clear enough indication. Really. Maedhros and Fingon had each had exactly one piece of true subtlety in them, and they’d spent it on keeping their relationship secret for years. 

“About Eöl. Yes, I’d gathered.”

Maedhros poured them all drinks. Normally, he made a pretense towards using his right hand for such tasks. Not today. Today, he simply grasped the decanter with his left, and poured with a dramatic flourish. It was actually very impressive to watch. Maedhros as a youth had been notoriously less coordinated than his younger siblings. Not ungraceful, even by elven standards, but Celegorm and Maglor had the sort of effortless wonder that any would envy. Caranthir was the only Fëanorion who didn’t have it at all, but he was younger than Celegorm and Maglor, and hadn’t been held to the same expectations that Maedhros had. Aredhel wondered idly if he would always have done better with his left hand, or if he’d simply needed more time to grow into his grace. 

“Not just about Eöl,” Maedhros corrected, handing over the glasses as he spoke. “I- well, properly Celegorm ought to be telling you, but I think he’s had his fill of confessing secrets of late.”

Following Idril’s revelation of Celegorm and Oromë’s relationship, the whole of Tirion seemed to know within the month. Some, Celegorm had properly told. Uncle Arafinwë, for example had to be notified, in accordance with his place as king. That had left Aredhel and Fingon’s father as the only member of their immediate family- children or siblings- who didn’t know. Except for Aunt Findis of course. But to tell the truth, Findis had managed to miss every single family event or piece of news since at least before Aredhel was born. She didn’t count. Angrod and Aegnor had, presumably, picked the news up from someone they spoke to. Galadriel maybe, or Ambarussa. With the assumption made that Celegorm was no longer keeping his relationship to Oromë a secret, the news had spread across Tirion like wildfire. 

Celegorm had maturely decided to respond by running away to stay with his mother- and his father too of course, but Fëanor was far less comforting, if equally protective. Oromë went with him, leaving Vána and Aredhel to look after each other in their absence. Oromë had been very clear to say ‘look after each other’, when their true meaning was clear to anyone with half a mind. Vána was to mind Aredhel, like a child. It would have been humiliating if Eöl hadn’t scared her so. She feared him still. She feared herself. Now more so than ever, for Lómion’s sake. 

“I rather imagine he has. What does he have left to confess?” 

“Celegorm has spent the entire time since Eöl returned trying to get Lómion out. He’s consulted with us, with Idril, with your Gondolodrim friends. Apparently, he even broached the matter with Nessa and Tulkas.”

Of course he did. How like Celegorm, to go above and beyond for those he loved most, with no expectation of gratitude or reward. Aredhel drank, which seemed appropriate in the situation. She had never acquired a more refined taste for alcohol as she aged. If she drank for fun, she drank wine. Anything stronger was for getting drunk. This was nice, expensive, and entirely wasted on someone with Aredhel’s level of interest. 

“He didn’t tell you because he thought it would break your heart if he failed.” Fingon murmured. And of course that was why. Of course. Celegorm, you beautiful, incredible, lovable fool. 

Aredhel shook her head. “I ought to either hit him or marry him and I can’t decide. Honestly. As though I would ever be anything other than grateful that someone cared enough to try.”

“Why not both?” Maedhros quipped, with his mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Cheers.”

They all clinked their glasses together for a pleasant ringing effect, and drank as one. 

“I think Celegorm’s prior romantic commitments might put a bit of a damper on the matrimonial bliss.”

Fingon shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t much mind my marriage of convenience. Though obviously, the real thing is better.” 

He and Maedhros exchanged a truly disgustingly sappy look. Aredhel pretended to choke on how sweet it all was. Fingon, showing all his many millennia of maturity, stuck his tongue out at her.

“Anyways,” Fingon continued, as the moment had passed, “that wasn’t the news I meant.” He produced a letter from his pocket, and handed it to Aredhel.

It was from Ingwë, of all people. King of the Vanyar. High King of the Elves. The only person save the Valar who outranked their own family in the eyes of the Noldor. Obviously, Thingol and Olwë’s peoples had differing rankings of such things, though they still counted Ingwë first among the Quendi. This letter seemed to have been written by Ingwë personally, in addition to bearing his seal. 

“Ah yes, that. We should probably discuss it with Oromë and Vána, but feel free to open it. We can deal them in when this whole mess settles down a little.”

Aredhel did as Maedhros had suggested and read the letter. Ingwë had scratched out, in surprisingly messy hand,   
__  
Findekáno and Maitimo,  
May Nessa grant this messenger swift feet and Wise Námo judge its contents advisable.

_I hope this letter finds you well. I would thank you for your informing me with regards to these matters. Too often, we forget that all elves must now share these lands, and communications between our peoples is key. By blood, this matter likely goes to Elwë’s judgement, but in his absence, I’ve taken it to Dior. The people may now follow other lines, but I think Oropher and Celeborn will hold little sway over Eöl. On this matter, Dior and I agree. Your proposed exile of Eöl from Tirion upon Túna and all surrounding lands for a distance of one hundred miles will stand, for a time not less than one Century. Dior and I will handle the sentencing. If, when a century has elapsed, should Nienna’s pity or Estë’s mercy have touched him, perhaps we shall reconsider the ban.  
I will admit I was surprised to receive word from you, and, to tell the truth, I had not planned to make this decision without a hearing and deliberation, but you were right, Maitimo, I believe, when you wrote that it was not only the duty of the Noldor to remember our shared history. The mistakes all of us made. If this is something that will show our continued dedication to the accounting of such history, let it be done. It has not escaped my mind that the returned Noldor have largely kept themselves segregated, to prevent causing as much pain as they can. _

_Your Ally in Peacemaking,  
Ingwë  
_  
The letter there continued with a listing of all Ingwë’s titles, but Aredhel was too caught up in Ingwë’s words to care about his titles. 

“You wrote Ingwë about him?”

Fingon shook his head. “I may have signed off for formality’s sake, but Maedhros wrote every word of that letter.”

Of course he had. Fingon might have been a wonderful person, and a good king, but he didn’t have Maedhros’s diplomatic gifts. Even for Maedhros, convincing Ingwë to intercede on the side of a Noldo in such a matter was a rare enough event to be considered remarkable.

“Thank you,” Aredhel murmured, meeting Maedhros’s eyes. He blushed and looked away. 

“It was about time that someone reminded Ingwë of his duty to our people. This was only my excuse.”

Fingon gave him a disbelieving look. “Liar. You told me that you didn’t care if you had to get Námo himself to intercede, you were getting Eöl banished.”

Aredhel leant over to hug Maedhros. “Take my thanks. Please.”

Maedhros couldn’t really say no to that, and so he had to be resigned to the glory of his success. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe Eöl would disobey every king in Arda because he was an egotistical ass who had never respected anyone in his whole life. But at least if that happened, it wouldn’t just be Aredhel who knew the nature of his heart. Everyone would have more than enough evidence.

They stayed together and drank their sorrows and joys alike. They did some planning for Lómion’s return- who would great him, where he would go, if there would be any restrictions to which he was subject. Those questions hadn’t borne thinking about before. The hope they implied was more than Aredhel had possessed. But now, she was free to think of them with certainty not merely dreams. Maedhros and Fingon both were a help with these matters, and eventually they tabled the topic, too drunk to continue a proper line of thinking. 

“Okay but hear me out,” Maedhros said, “I don’t think you marrying Celegorm is a terrible idea.”

Fingon seemed to think this was very funny and snorted liquid out his nose with his laughing. This made him double over with amusement at himself. Maedhros ran his right hand over Fingon’s braids, smoothing them down, and payed no attention to his over-merry demeanor. 

“What about that sentence isn’t a terrible idea?” Aredhel asked him. 

Maedhros grinned. “Well, I for one am a big fan of ‘you’, ‘marriage’ and ‘Celegorm’.” 

Of course, he would get technical about her phrasing. Stupid Fëanorion. “Well, it’s the combination of them that’s the problem.”

“Well, I can see how you’d think that. But what would actually be so bad about it? Celegorm and Oromë can’t ever marry anyway, and you’d get to shut Eöl out of your life and whatever might remain of your bond.”

It was certainly because of how much she’d had to drink, but that had almost sounded like a not terrible idea. 

“You’re forgetting something.” Fingon told them, when he finally stopped laughing. 

“What?” Aredhel asked, genuinely curious. 

“’Marriage’” Fingon quipped, with just the inflection that said he meant the Noldorin slang for sex rather than the state of being married.

Celegorm was not unattractive, in truth. He was fair in looks as well as in coloring, and had more going for him than just that. In personality, he was absolutely Aredhel’s type: aggressive, snarky and suave in turn, bad for her. But that was exactly why they could never have been together. All the things that would have attracted Aredhel to him were the qualities that Celegorm loved least in himself. Oromë had always seen something greater in him, even when Celegorm himself couldn’t see it. 

“I don’t know if I should be offended on Celegorm’s behalf by the look on your face,” Maedhros told her, with a laugh. 

“Being offended on Celegorm’s behalf is my job.”

At this, Fingon laughed too. There was something exhilarating about being able to make someone laugh with a stupid joke, and perhaps this was what emboldened Aredhel to speak further. 

“Besides, if anything, I love Celegorm far too much to marry him.” 

This didn’t make them laugh. Maedhros and Fingon exchanged a glance. Fingon a little confused, Maedhros mournful. 

“I’d give you a speech about how love and marriage doesn’t have to be like that, but I think you know,” Maedhros said, “so instead I’ll tell you that it’s not the only important thing in the world. No offense, Fingon, and no offense to the other unrepentant romantics among us- Celegorm and myself included- but romantic love is not actually the point.”

“The point?” Aredhel asked. 

Maedhros leant in close. “The point of everything. It helps, certainly, but it’s not the point. Or at least, not the only one. I love Fingon with all my heart, yes, but I don’t know if that’s the point. Maybe the point is looking after my brothers. Maybe the point is my son. My sons. Or maybe the point is to know my wrongs. To catalogue my mistakes and ensure they will never be repeated. Those are mine, I think.”

Fingon, for someone who had just been told he was not the most important thing in his husband’s life, looked very pleased. 

“And for me, I have Maedhros, yes, but I also have my duty and my son. That’s part of the point too.”

Aredhel knew what hers were. Turgon and Celegorm. The beauty and wonder of the world. And of course, most importantly, Lómion. That was the only thing that mattered, in the end. Her son. Without her, Turgon and Celegorm would survive. Had survived. But Lómion had suffered and lost and died without her to help him. To protect him. And now, he needed her again. Finally. 

“I’m getting him back.” Aredhel managed, and dissolved into tears. It was too much. Too soon. She wasn’t ready, and yet she still couldn’t bear every second she was without him. 

Fingon nodded. “Yes, you are.”

“I don’t think I can do this, Finno. I’m not ready. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ll fail him again.”

“No.” Maedhros snapped. They both turned to look at him. “You will not fail Lómion. You have not failed Lómion. You did everything within your power. You gave your life to keep him safe. It is not your fault that your best wasn’t enough. Sometimes, our best isn’t enough. Fingon and I know that better than anybody. But things are different now. Now, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ll be with you every step of the way. Until you’re sick of the sight of us and want to chase us off with your bow. And then some.”

Sometimes, Aredhel wondered how bright, shining, giving Fingon could have married someone with Maedhros’s proclivity towards cynicism and dark humor. Now was not one of those times. His eyes were bright with passion, and he was earnest in his conviction. 

“Promise?” Aredhel asked, because she had to. 

Fingon reached across to grasp her hand. “Every step of the way.”

Carefully putting down her glass, Aredhel embraced them both. A surprised Maedhros spilled brandy down the back of her shirt, and she didn’t even care. This was happening, and she wasn’t going to have to do it alone. 

\--

It was cold, and then it wasn’t. It was dark, and then it wasn’t. Maeglin shielded his eyes with his hands, and knelt on the ground. He knew, clinically, where he was. Valinor. Having been released from Mandos. He knelt, feeling the dewy grass on his bare legs and beneath his fingers. Maeglin had never liked prairie grass, hill grass, either in practice or as a concept. It was aesthetically displeasing, coarse. You couldn’t eat it, and unless it was unbearable tall, you couldn’t hide in it. This grass was short, and marginally less coarse than average, but still not his favourite. He would have traded it for the smooth stones of Gondolin or even a soft forest floor of pine needles any day.

“Do you start all your conversations with monologues about grass?” Someone snarked in the distance. There was the sound of flesh on flesh and then “Ow.”

Maeglin uncovered his eyes. The grass was green. More so than Maeglin had ever seen before. But of course it was. This was Valinor. The grass was quite literally greener here. Raising his head, he caught sight of the sarcastic stranger. He recognized him from his mother’s descriptions, as well as a family tree Turgon had had painted in Gondolin. Celegorm, the third son of Fëanor. And beside him- oh. 

Maeglin’s mother raised her hand awkwardly, and didn’t move. She was weeping freely, tears streaming down her face. At a nudge from Celegorm, she ran to him. Maeglin was already standing, was already moving towards her, and they met in the middle. Maeglin too found himself weeping, tears flowing from his new eyes. Celegorm took his leave, moving well out of earshot. A fine hawk, which must have been circling overhead, swooped down and handed on his shoulder. He scratched the hawk on its crown absentmindedly, and surveyed the lands around them. He may have done more, but at this point, Maeglin buried his face in his mother’s shoulder. 

“Lómion,” she whispered softly to him, “Lómion, I am so sorry.”

As though she had something to be sorry for. “Ammë, please, forgive me. I- please.”

“Always,” she said, and then, pulling back, she looked Maeglin dead in the eye. “So help me Eru, if you ever pull anything like that again, I’ll end you myself.”

In the way they always spoke to each other, this roughly meant, ‘don’t you ever pull that again. It was unacceptable behaviour and I was afraid for you.’ She was, in this instance, entirely right. 

“I won’t. Never again, I promise. I just couldn’t-”

She pulled him in close again before he could finish the thought. For the best, perhaps, since he had no idea where it had been going. I just couldn’t control myself? A terrible excuse, and not technically true. I just couldn’t take what the enemy through at me? True, not what she needed to hear. I just couldn’t fit in? See previous answer. I just couldn’t do it again? A nice fantasy, but Maeglin knew all too well what he was capable of. 

“You’re here. You’re okay. You’re here. It’s okay,” his mother whispered, a hypnotising rhythm. She cradled him in her arms, rocking back and forth like she had when he was a child. 

He was there, but it wasn’t okay. He had done monstrous, monstrous things. Nobody could give him absolution for them, because he didn’t deserve absolution. There was no excuse. For every evil motivated by the enemy, two more had already been lying in wait in his own heart. Had he always been willing to destroy Gondolin? Always willing to kill Turgon, to kill Ecthelion and Glorfindel and all the other lords just to get to Idril? Had it been a kind of revenge, for his father? Who was to say, when Maeglin himself didn’t know? 

He made an effort to dry his eyes on his mother’s tunic, and pulled away. Celegorm was still looking pointedly into the distance and stroking his bird. Either it was a very tame hunting bird, or some sort of pet, Maeglin decided. Then, in a bizarre gesture, Celegorm pulled a satchel off of his body, over the bird, who seemed unfazed by the whole proceeding, and crossed to hand it to Maeglin. 

Maeglin became abruptly aware of the fact that he was, by Noldorin standards, naked, and blushed so hard he could feel it like a burn. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, in Sindarin, and took the satchel. The bird crooked its head at him, and stared unnervingly into his eyes. 

“We won’t watch you get dressed,” Celegorm told him, his Sindarin accented with a distinctly Fëanorean lisp. Before Maeglin could ask who ‘we’ was, Celegorm turned away and covered the bird’s field of vision with one hand. He seemed entirely a mad sort, but, well, who could blame him after the things he’d done.

Maeglin got dressed quickly and efficiently. Though the sleeves were a little long, the fit was a close one, and the embroidery suggested these had been owned or made by someone who cared a great deal about their status and about showing that status in the Noldorin fashion. That same soul had tucked some jewellery into the satchel. Certainly, neither Celegorm nor his mother had done that. Neither would have thought it necessary. Checking for a mark from the goldsmith responsible, he found they were both wrought by Celegorm’s kin, though apparently different members. The superior craft belonged to the hairclip, and, Maeglin thought based on the mark, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin. The slightly inferior craftsmanship was on the ring, which fit fairly well on Maeglin’s middle finger, and, based on process of elimination- it was neither Celebrimbor’s mark nor Fëanor’s- presumably belonged to Curufin himself. From what Maeglin knew of Celebrimbor’s father, he was not usually someone who worked in this medium, preferring engineering and architecture, and it left Maeglin to wonder what the purpose of the ring had originally been. 

“Curufin made about a hundred of them practicing to make wedding rings for his son. I still find them in basically every drawer I go through,” Celegorm said. When Maeglin made an aborted noise of shock, he added, “you’re still projecting a bit. It happens to some people when they come back. I didn’t get it, but Finrod told me that he had it very badly.”

Maeglin’s mother said nothing, but she did pull herself together enough to straighten the clip in his hair and to tuck the rest of it behind his ears. Once, she would have said, ‘so I can see that handsome face of yours’. In this new life of theirs, she said no such thing. 

Celegorm, surveying their surroundings, said, “we should get moving. If you’re alright with it, your mother and I had thought the both of you might stay with my Curufin and I, at least for a few days. Or, well, more properly it’ll be just with Curufin, though normally I live there too. I just- can’t be around right now.”

Maeglin, curiosity being one of his greater weaknesses, asked, “why not?”

“Oh, nothing about you, but the gossiping public had final discovered that I’m courting Oromë. I’ll be hiding behind my mother’s skirts and my father’s temper if you need anything from me.”

Maeglin found himself struck by the unsettling realization that whatever else, life in Valinor would not be boring.  
 __  
\--

_Idril,_

_Celegorm told me to under no circumstances write this letter. Fortunately, Curufin did not know about this verdict and has agreed to deliver it for me. Do not be upset with Celegorm. He is trying his best, but as I understand it, he has his own troubles._

_Idril, I am sorry. I have treated you in a manner that was inexcusable, for reasons that are not your fault. You have done nothing wrong by me. I will not bother to enumerate the true reasons. They do not affect the fact that I treated you badly, for reasons that were not your fault, and you are under no obligation to forgive me. I’m not sure I could bear to recollect them anyhow._

_I hope you and Tuor are well, and Eärendil too. I will not trouble you further, but it needed to be said._

_Your cousin,_

_M_

_\--_

_Maeglin,_

_I assume based on your signature that you are still going by that name. Though I would recommend not continuing to sign with that single initial. You could also be my cousin ‘Maglor’ or my cousin ‘Maedhros’, or my cousin, ‘Morifinwë’. They are more distant, of course. You and Gil-galad remain my only first cousins. With some time here, you will no doubt find cousins of every degree in an irritatingly close proximity. They clump._

_I’m only writing back to correct you on that and one other matter. Tuor is dead. He has been dead for a very long time. Eärendil is a star now, which is fine._

_Idril Celebrindal_

_\--_

_Idril,_

_I’m sorry._

_Maeglin  
_  
\--

It was a parody of Manwë’s Valar-councils. Not all the Valar were there, of course, nor were all that were there Valar. Estë was there, of course, as were Melian, an old friend, and Olorin, who Oromë had been introduced to thirty seconds previously by Estë. Oromë liked him instantly. Of the Valar, it was a wide assortment. Oromë, Vána, Nessa and Tulkas of course, but also a range of others. Ulmo, Yavanna and Aulë, Nienna, and, finally, Varda. She, like Olorin, had come uninvited, but was also not unwelcome. Despite the differences in the crowd, however, they were conducting themselves with the severity Manwë would have asked of them. This only added to the sense of comedy.

Perhaps it would not have so strongly seemed a parody had they not been meeting in Fëanor and Nerdanel’s kitchen. But they were. Ulmo was dripping all over the floor. Where was all that water even coming from? Yavanna was stroking the potted plant on the table. 

“Do you want tea, or?” Fëanor asked, awkwardly.

Nobody wanted tea; Fëanor excused himself as quickly as possible. It said something of Fëanor’s character that he’d come in to ask. Oromë had learned a great deal of Fëanor’s character in the last few weeks, while he and Celegorm had been imposing on his hospitality. Any return to his own home or to within a hundred miles of Tirion seemed to result in both he and Celegorm being flooded with the complaints and furious queries of elves and even Maiar. Fëanor had chased anyone who tried to bother them here off with various hammers, rolled-up papers, and, on one memorable occasion, a chair, in hand. Oromë could have removed them himself, but using his powers against elves seemed tremendously unfair, and would have only caused people to turn further against them. Everyone expected slightly-unhinged behaviour from Fëanor. 

“Oromë my friend, I’m confused as to what we’re doing here,” Melian said. Calling Oromë a friend was generous, after all the inadvertent sorrow he had caused her daughter.

“I think we are all confused as to why we are here,” Tulkas rumbled, surveying the room. He and Nessa had been a little insulted Oromë and Celegorm had not sought refuge with them instead of Fëanor and Nerdanel. But Tulkas and Nessa always kept their door open to many, and Fëanor and Nerdanel opened theirs for a select few.

Vána leant back in her chair, and pulled the pot plant away from Yavanna. “Tulkas, you know full well why we’re here, including in the existentialist sense.”

Tulkas rolled his eyes at her, and Nessa said, “come on Oromë. Hurry up.” 

Oromë looked down at his hands. “Some of you already know, or will have heard rumours. I’m here to confirm them. Celegorm and I are in a relationship. Ulmo, the answers to your questions are, in order, yes, yes, before and absolutely not.”

The Lord of Waters nodded pensively. He rarely spoke aloud in the presence of those strong enough to bear the full strength of his mental powers. In fact, his current form didn’t even have a functional set of vocal chords that Oromë could detect. So, in this case, he had thought questions as Oromë was speaking, which they had all heard. Does Vána know? Did she agree? Were they together before mental-description-of-the-First-Age or only after? Wasn’t Oromë concerned about the kind of person Celegorm was? With these questions in mind, Oromë had been able to quickly give his answers to, he hoped, Ulmo’s satisfaction. 

Melian slammed her hands down hard on the table, and stalked out of the room. Nobody moved to stop her, since this reaction was more than reasonable in the circumstances. She had the wits to put together the other information in her possession (that Oromë had once borne a remarkable resemblance to her daughter, that Celegorm had been cruel and abusive to her daughter), and had come to the entirely correct conclusion that Oromë was in some degree the cause of some percentage of Lúthien’s suffering.

“Congratulations?” Aulë offered, but the tone was so clearly questioning that Yavanna elbowed him. Then, in the next moment, she reached over and snaked the plant back from Vána.

Sometimes, Oromë didn’t even know why he bothered with this family. Honestly. He should just spend all his time with Celegorm’s instead. Somehow, they were marginally saner.

When Nienna spoke, her voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible, but, as their respective abilities worked, he was still able to perfectly discern every word. Speaking to Nienna was often like this, and had been ever since they’d been able to speak aloud. 

“Would you say you are happy?” She whispered, from deep within the folds of her hood. 

Oromë nodded. He thought, for a breath of a second, that he saw Nienna smile. It was hard to tell, with her. Nienna’s nature was not to show joy, but even a response aside from outright sorrow was close to a victory with her. 

Varda leant back on her seat, and gave Oromë a quizzical look. According to the mortals he knew who had met the Queen of the Valar, she was sometimes difficult for them to look at too long. And it was true, her eyes and hair were dotted with the bright fire of stars. This day, she was wrapped in a long dark dress and overcoat, which covered some of her usual brightness. Perhaps this was intentional, given she was visiting. It would be rude to be all-consuming when you were a guest in someone’s home. 

“My lady?” Oromë asked, looking carefully at her. 

“Surely you know my lord husband will not approve.”

Oromë nodded; he had known. That was why he had very carefully decided to invite her instead of Manwë. Their king had always had trouble understanding that others did not so consistently make perfect decisions or have pure motives as he himself did. It was why he’d forgiven Melkor, and yet it was why he would never understand how Oromë could love a known kinslayer in place of his own wife. It was not that he could not forgive Celegorm, as Námo could not. It was that he would never understand Oromë’s marrying someone who he did not share a romantic connection with in the first place.

“You know that I do not approve?” Varda continued, and oh, no, that stung. 

In some ways, it made sense. Though Manwë was baffled by wrongdoing, he had once been a believer in forgiveness. Varda never had been. She had never trusted Melkor, had been suspicious of him at every turn. Where Manwë’s disapproval would fall on Oromë, Varda’s would fall on Celegorm.

Oromë gathered all his strength, and looked Varda dead in the eyes. “I don’t care if there isn’t a single person in this room who approves outside of me and Vána. Understand? That goes for all people outside this room, come to that, save Celegorm. I don’t care if Manwë thinks I’ve gone utterly mad and Námo thinks I’m amoral and selfish. But let me make myself perfectly clear. None of you are going to take this out on Celegorm or his family. You understand?”

No one will lay so much as a finger on any of them. Ulmo thought, possessively. Everyone stared at him. The Lord of Waters opened his mouth, showing off entirely too many shark teeth for comfort. A reminder that the sea could be as dangerous as it could be kind. 

“Aye,” said Aulë, nodding. Well, four total Valar, counting Vána, wasn’t a terrible number all things considered. Finwë’s house could have done worse. 

But then Yavanna was agreeing with her husband, and Nessa and Tulkas were nodding along, and Olorin was smiling wickedly, and Estë was smiling proudly. Oh. Oromë hadn’t been expecting any of that. He made a concerted effort not to weep. It was a level of support he hadn’t allowed himself to dream of.

“Varda, I do not say this often,” Nienna whispered. The room silenced to hear her. “But you are completely wrong. I know you were right about Melkor. We all know that you were right about Melkor. But on this matter, you are wrong.”

By ‘I do not say this often’, Nienna presumably meant, ‘I have never said this before.’ Oh, she sometimes disagreed with Varda, yes, but she never said anything about it. 

The look of shock on Varda’s face was something Oromë was going to savour for years. She blinked, wide eyed at Nienna, and then managed, “I’m sorry, what?”

Ulmo, seemingly deciding to relieve Nienna, offered his thoughts. You were right that we should not have trusted Melkor. We all acknowledge that. But if we let our lesson from that be that we should forgive no one, trust no one, then he wins. He wins, because we never treat Eru’s children with the respect they deserve. He wins because we become just as dictatorial and cruel as he ever was. 

It had taken Oromë a great deal of time to reach the same conclusion. He wondered when Ulmo had reached it. Had it taken Maglor to do it, or had he realized long before? Had it been this logic that had led him to interfere in Beleriand where everyone else in this room had failed? 

“You know, I said something very similar once,” Fëanor informed them from the doorway, “but less eloquently, and for more selfish reasons.” Everyone turned to stare at him. “I came to tell you that Melian’s gone. She says she can’t forgive you, but she hopes you find every happiness. She also says that ‘it’s worth it’. I won’t bother to offer my opinion as to what she meant by that.”

He vanished as quickly as he had arrived, leaving a room full of thoughtful Valar in his wake. Oromë, for his part, had ideas about what Melian meant. Loving an elf. That was worth it. Suffering with them in Beleriand. That had been worth it. Giving everything of yourself for those you loved. That was worth it. 

“How can I ever forgive them?” Varda spoke like she was their ruler, not their friend. Perhaps, this day, she was not.

This time, it was Estë who answered. “I don’t know if you have to forgive them. Perhaps all you have to do is listen. When was the last time you sat down and listened to one of the Quendi?”

“Eärendil.” And yes, that made sense, but it was also deeply depressing. She’d met Eärendil in the first age. “But I am always watching, always seeing and hearing.”

Ulmo hummed at them. If I have learned anything from Maglor, it is that hearing someone and listening to them are two very different things.

“That is true,” rumbled Tulkas. 

“It is a sight more than I have known some of you to do,” Varda snapped, with a significant look at Vána. 

“How many of you have had a conversation with one of the Quendi in the last year?” Oromë interrupted before his wife could throw herself bodily at Varda. Vána hated people assuming that she was uncaring and distant. Like all of them, Vána had made some mistakes, and regretted those mistakes. She didn’t deserve to be ostracized for them. 

They all had, save Varda. “The last month,” Nessa said. She kept her hand up, as did Tulkas, Ulmo, Aulë, Vána, and Oromë himself. Then, “The last day.” Only Vána, Oromë and Aulë kept their hands up. 

When they all turned to look at Aulë, he said, “I stopped by to talk to Fëanor before everyone else got here. You know, he has some very interesting theories about converting mechanical energy into-”

They didn’t let him continue. Aulë could divert important conversations at the slightest provocation. Additionally, Varda was looking upset, and that situation required management. 

“Varda, Estë is right. I can’t ask you to forgive, any more than I can ask them to forgive our inaction against Melkor. Yes, they had acted wickedly, but it was we who misjudged our kin, again and again. It was we who let him hunt them like animals and butcher them with equal care. The guilty died, yes, but so did many who were innocent. Eru’s children. And of all us, Melian is the only one who ever went to fight for them in those dark years. Ulmo, you acted. And Manwë saved Maedhros, which I am given to understand there exists a wide range of opinions on. But any way you look at it, we mostly were negligent in our duties. We let Melkor scorch the earth and sow the seeds of chaos. We let him divide them and us, and it has taken us hundreds of mortal lifetimes to even begin considering forgiving them. As Nessa always says, ‘it isn’t fast enough.’ If we want there to ever be an Arda Remade, we should begin our work undoing Melkor’s damage to this one.”

Oromë finished with the sort of flourish that would have made Fëanor proud, and prayed, to the all-encompassing being that served as his father and his deity, that it would have the desired effect.   
__  
\--

_Maeglin,_

_I thought that apologizing was what the last letter was for?_

_Idril_

_\--_

_Idril,_

_I meant about Tuor. I had just assumed. Well, it was wrong of me to assume. Are you alright?_

_I see what you meant with the cousins. They really are everywhere. The Valar too. Though I think that might be just spending this much time with Celegorm. He seems to attract them. I’ve met your grandson, Elrond. He was very kind, though not what I expected. Do you know he calls Maedhros ‘Atar’?_

_We met because I was speaking with Maedhros, Celebrimbor and Finrod, and he stopped by to see Maedhros. They wanted to meet with me about my experiences with the enemy. Maedhros says I should try to talk about it more. I’m not sure who he means I should talk to, but I think I understand the point. They are not bad sorts. Celebrimbor is very clever. I wish I had known him in Beleriand, though perhaps it is for the best that I did not. Evidence has more than shown that I did not have his determination, or fortitude under duress. Finrod is very odd. I know he was a friend to your father, so I’m not sure why he’s bothering with me. He recited a poem for us before we started and I thought Maedhros was going to gag him. It was a very long poem about suffering (which aptly demonstrated its topic), and I think we would all have been grateful if he had. I don’t even know where to begin with Maedhros. He is fascinating, to me. I cannot tell if he is quite mad or very brave or both._

_I’m not sure why I’m telling you all this. I’m sorry for bothering you. If you want me to stop, just, don’t write me back and I’ll leave you alone. On my honour, what little I have left of it._

_Respectfully,_

_Maeglin Lómion_

_\--_

_Maeglin,_

_I’m not sure why I’m writing back either. Maybe I need to get out more. It’s been hard, since Tuor died. We knew it was coming, but Eärendil took it very badly, and I took him taking it badly very badly. Nobody really knows what to say to me about it. Like I was the only bereaved widow in Valinor. How depressing is that? I wonder if that was how Grandfather Finwë felt, after Míriel died._

_Yes, I know about Maedhros and Elrond. I’ve had some time to come to terms with it. Like it or not, Maedhros and Maglor raised him and his brother. I can’t go back in time and change what happened there, and, frankly, Elrond loves them so much it would be almost monstrous of me to do so. You are right about Maedhros being fascinating. He is brave, not mad, if you were really wondering. It takes a strength that few of us possess to live the way Maedhros does, day to day._

_In the interests of full disclosure, I think I owe you an apology. I didn’t believe it when people told me that you were under the influence of the enemy. I always did my best to think the very worst of you. But I know now what the truth was, and I’m sorry about what happened to you. And I’m sorry I didn’t notice, didn’t do anything. If you do want to talk to me about it, like Maedhros said to, write me._

_I think that sometimes, we are as much a sum of our experiences than we are our innate natures._

_I don’t really know what that means about us. I’ve just been thinking on the subject._

_Ponderously,_

_Idril_

_\--_

_Idril,_

_I know what it is like to feel like the only unhappy person in a happy place. I’m sorry people have not learned in the past few millennia what to say when you have lost someone. Nobody ever knew what to say when they had executed my father, no matter what sort of a person he was. Some of them said, ‘it’s for the best,’ and others said ‘he deserved it’. It was the worst thing to hear. I already knew he deserved it. I just didn’t want to be alone any more._

_It does not surprise me at all that you would have had the strength to survive losing Tuor. And it does take strength. More than most people ever have. It must be impossibly difficult, some days. But you have been a survivor all your life, I think. You survived the Ice, you survived Gondolin, you made your way to Valinor when nobody else could have done it.  You’re stronger than anyone knows._

_Thank you for offering to let me talk about what happened. About what he did. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about it. I’m not sure that I’m ready to put it down on paper, where I cannot control what happens to it. It’s not that I don’t trust you with it, but it feels like doing that would make it real again, just for a moment. I can’t let it be real again._

_Remorsefully,_

_Lómion_

_\--_

_Lómion,_

_Would you prefer I call you that from now on? Also, would it be easier to talk about it in person? If it would be, you can ask Sídhil, who is delivering this letter, where to find me. She’ll be loitering just around the bend for you to read the letter. If you decide not to come, give her a heads up. She’ll be frustrated if she spends a whole day waiting there when she could be doing anything else._

_Idril_

_\--_

_Idril,_

_I said it yesterday, but it bears repeating. Thank you. I cannot say it enough. Thank you. For everything._

_There was a time when I would have sold out everyone I cared about to have you call me ‘husband’. It is a far greater honour than I could have ever imagined to call you my friend._

_Life is funny that way. Celegorm, a kinslayer, falls for a Vala. The heirs apparent to the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor fall in love. Two sets of them. My mother ‘sees’ Ecthelion (yeah I know, I’m surprised too. She only told me yesterday after our meeting and I think I’m still in shock), Glorfindel and Erestor get married. Your son grows up to literally be a star, and his wife turns into a bird. Maybe nothing is as we expected it to be. Maybe that is a good thing._

_Your friend, hopefully,_

_Lómion_

__  
\--

It was an awful meeting. Embarrassing before it had even started. Celegorm, standing at his mother’s left hand, squirmed. Oromë, across the field, gave him a sympathetic look. 

“Do we-“ Celegorm didn’t even begin to formulate his question before his father cut him off. 

“Hold your position. We have to let the kings start this.” 

To his parents’ other side, Maedhros had a restraining hand on Maglor’s shoulder. Elrond should have been there, but instead, he was down far to Celegorm’s left, with the rest of his bloodline. Almost all the Nolofinwëans looked miserable. Fingon most especially. In fact, Lómion and Idril seemed the only two who were where they needed to be. They were side by side, between their two parents, whispering to each other like scoundrels. This seemed to deeply unnerve Turgon, who kept casting dubious glances all around. Suddenly, they all turned as one to look over at the Vanyar delegation. Celegorm followed their gaze. 

Ingwë slid forward, just a single step. He was regal, head held high, crown almost glowing in the sunlight. Manwë, in a very similar looking and equally regal form, stepped forward to meet him. All the delegations- in total perhaps almost a thousand beings- held their breath. They watched the two kings meet in the middle, and then, as one they turned away from each other, beckoning to their counterparts. Finarfin, Olwë, and Thingol’s disparate successors, all three: Dior, Celeborn, and Oropher. It had been a topic of great debate which of them to choose. Dior was the technically highest ranking, though he wasn’t king of anyone much, while Celeborn and Oropher were so closely ranked that choosing between the two would just have been awkward. But Olwë and Uncle Arfin had been good natured about allowing all three in.

There was a long, awkward silence. Celegorm’s mother put a hand on his shoulder, Maedhros and Maglor wrapped their arms around each other, someone in the Teleri group started humming under their breath and was quickly silenced by their compatriots. 

“Who’s next?” Nerdanel whispered under her breath. 

Fëanor started on an answer, but no more had he opened his mouth than the next phase of the greetings had started. Varda and Eärendil met in the middle, shook hands, and then Eärendil was beckoning to his family, and Elrond was walking forward. Celegorm could hear Maedhros suck in a tense breath. It was so quiet. Celegorm could hear shuffling feet and breathing. He could hear the soft murmuring of Elrond’s greetings to Varda, and he could hear light footsteps in the distance. Wait, what?

“Do you hear that?” Celegorm whispered, to Curufin on his left. 

Curufin had no more opened his mouth to say, “hear what?” When Celegorm heard the twang of a bowstring. 

Centuries of battle instinct drilled into every one of them by the enemy caused an immediate and intense reaction. Celegorm pulled Curufin to the ground. Their brothers had moved just a half second later, and Celebrimbor not a half-second after that. In fact, he had probably reacted at the same instant Celegorm had, but he had thrown himself over Celegorm to knock his grandparents to the ground. There was a great wave of shouting, a clap of thunder, the cry of an eagle, a flash of incomprehensible light, and then it was over. 

Celegorm, fine clothes stained with dirt, pulled himself off of Curufin to look at the tableau around him. He’d shoved Curufin face first into the ground, and, by the look in his eyes, he wasn’t happy about it. Celebrimbor pulled himself up off of Nerdanel and Fëanor, who looked oddly proud. Maedhros seemed to be staying on the ground, and for a second Celegorm worried he had been shot. But no, Maedhros rolled over, disentangling himself from Maglor. A wider glance revealed the rest of the scene. The Arafinwëans were already standing, for the most part. Perhaps they hadn’t reacted to Celegorm’s extremes, or perhaps they’d merely recovered more quickly. Of them, only Finrod remained on the ground, and even he seemed sheepish as Galadriel helped him up. 

The Nolofinwëans were another matter entirely. They were all clustered together, so it was impossible to determine exactly what was going on. Celegorm was moving towards them before he had even finished processing what was happening. Someone- Caranthir maybe- called out to him to stop, but that was fruitless, for Maedhros and their father were moving with him. They reached their kin, and Celegorm pushed Argon out of the way- “Ow, Celegorm, you fucker,”- to see Aredhel on the ground. She was shaking, an arrow on the ground beside her, but no blood. Not from anyone. Lómion was holding his mother’s hand, and Idril was- wait, she’d been at Lómion’s side a second ago. Where was Idril?

That was approximately when the shouting started. 

“What in Eru’s name was that?” Idril. Excellent. Not dead, and asking the right questions. 

“At ease, Idril.” That was Oromë, sounding almost gleeful, their tone merry. “T’would take a stronger elf than Eöl to do harm in front of all the Valar.”

“Where is he?” Idril demanded, undeterred, “I’ll kill him again!”

Aredhel, from where she still lay on the ground, grabbed Lómion by the chin. “Stop her, before she does something regrettable.”

Lómion hopped to, pushing out of the crowd. The circle opened some, allowing Celegorm and Turgon to drop to Aredhel’s side, and giving Celegorm a clear view again. Lómion caught up to Idril before she could reach Manwë and stick an angry finger in his face. Fortunately. They both paused, some feet before the crowd of kings-and Eärendil, Varda and Elrond. Tulkas plodded carefully into the circle as well, holding Eöl by his shirt. The furious elf scraped and kicked at Tulkas, who seemed entirely unbothered by the whole affair. He tossed Eöl unceremoniously to the ground before the kings. 

“Would that I had exiled you from Valinor entirely.” Ingwë pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers. Celegorm, who had seen that expression on his father too many times for comfort, knew exactly what frustration it meant. 

“Ingwë,” Manwë addressed his sometime friend. His voice was everything. It was in the very air they breathed. He was meaning to be heard. “An explanation, perhaps? I know not who this would-be assassin purports himself as.”

Ingwë opened his mouth to answer, but Lómion was there first. “He is my father, my lord.” Lómion strode forward, past his father, and knelt before the assembled kings. Idril was at his side in a heartbeat, staring them down. Her voice was ice and a barely concealed rage 

“He is a selfish, arrogant coward with no respect for anyone but himself. He is an abuser and a monster. And yet he was released from Mandos before Lómion, his son. So, inadvertently your majesty, he is the cause of our meeting. For you see, what cause had the Valar to release Eöl? It did naught but harm to those of us here. And yet Lómion, who your kinsman did torment, was kept, unable to heal? For what reason? Eöl only barely outlasted Fëanor, who has been not for one moment less than pleasant and respectful to all of us he wronged. And no person begged for or requested him. Maedhros, who is one of the kindest people I know, who raised my grandchild as a son, languished only a few centuries less, even though he was wanted here, needed here. What are the standards? What is the purpose? Do you desire to heal the Quendi or to torment us?”

Idril, who had lost the thread of her argument partway through, only stopped when Lómion reached up to put a hand on her arm. She flinched, and then dropped to her knees at Manwë’s feet. There was a long silence, which stretched out over the fields. Then Celegorm’s father started to laugh. Fingolfin, at his side, elbowed him until he stopped, but it was too late. Aredhel picked up the thread, and she was laughing too. Almost hysterically. Celegorm slapped a hand over her mouth, but Oromë- sweet, beautiful, kind Oromë, who today had eyes the colour of pine bark and hair that floated around his head in a cloud- barked out a laugh where she left off. The look Manwë gave him would have killed a mortal man. 

“My lady, when I advised you to change the way you treated those around you, this wasn’t really what I had in mind. I was thinking more quiet chats over tea, less shouting at Lord Manwë. Though I suppose that you should choose the path that best suits you,” Oromë told her, with breathy amusement.

Idril looked up at him. Celegorm could not see her face, but he imagined it to be fond. “Well, I did my fair share of chats over tea as well. But I have the Finwëan madness in my blood, so would you really have predicted anything less?”

Manwë seemed baffled, more than anything, as did Ingwë. Olwë and Celeborn were hiding grins, while Dior and Oropher kept their faces carefully blank, Arafinwë held his head in his hands. No wonder nobody else had wanted to go back to being High King of the Noldor. It seemed a truly horrible job. 

Námo sullied the mood. He emerged from the crowd of Valar, Nienna at his side. They both gave Manwë the proper bow, and then Námo spoke. Celegorm had not heard the voice of death in a very long time, but it was something his bones had not forgotten. A shiver passed across the assembled Quendi. 

“We are of many minds.” Námo proclaimed, unyielding. In another world, he would have made a fine herald. “We know the cost of the actions of the Quendi. We know their crimes and the sorrows they have wrought. But we know too the crimes of Melkor, who was our kin. We know that we gave him many chances, all squandered. We did not give the Quendi the same. But should we? Who deserves them? Why?”

He paused, and that was all the opportunity Oromë needed to interrupt. Eru, Celegorm loved him. “We don’t know. None of us do, and that is the truth as honestly as any can give it. There are no lessons on how to rule, few guidelines or parameters for us to follow. I am the Lord of the Hunt, and yet, I did not hunt down Melkor, who was our kinsman. Námo here is supposedly Lord of Death, yet even he knows not what Eru holds in store for those who follow the mortal path. Love, and birth and death are not the providence of the Valar, and yet we fall in love. We lay down rules and codes to decree who may marry. We aid in births and sometimes we drive those who oppose us towards death. We are neither the rulemakers nor their subjects. What are we?”

Everyone stared at Oromë. Aredhel, in the silence, pulled at Celegorm’s arm. “Go. Now.” She muttered. Celegorm, who knew well that was not part of the plan, shook his head. 

“Go, Celegorm,” Fingolfin said. He dropped to Aredhel’s side, Celegorm’s father not half a step behind him. The look on Fingolfin’s face was indescribable. There was concern, but also such rage. Celegorm’s father seemed for once to be the calmer of the two. Fëanor had a hand on his brother’s shoulder, for support or comfort, Celegorm knew not. At Fingolfin’s words, he nodded in agreement. 

Celegorm, under some kind of compulsion, walked out into the field. Manwë, who must have known about Celegorm’s relationship with Oromë even if he had never been directly told, was silent, as were all those who stood around him.

“You are what you are.” Celegorm said. His voice was too quiet to be heard by most of the crowd, but that didn’t matter. It was for Oromë’s ears anyways. “You don’t need to be anything more than that. Just- be what you are and try to be better.”

It was not the most profound thing Celegorm had ever said, but Oromë seemed to like it just fine. A touch at Celegorm’s mind ask permission, and, when it was granted, Oromë pulled him into a kiss. 

In stories, a kiss is always climactic. This was a kiss like that, or it would have been if they hadn’t had the audience they had. As it was, when they pulled apart, Ingwë was staring open mouthed at them. Nobody else looked surprised. Not even Eöl, who was bitter and oddly silent. Perhaps it was Tulkas’s standing above him that caused this effect. 

“Do you not get Noldorin gossip in Valmar, your majesty?” Idril quipped. 

Ingwë, to his credit, was quick to retort, “evidently not.”

Námo gave Celegorm a truly penetrating look. It was only Oromë’s arm around his waist that kept him from flinching away. “Do you believe that?”

Celegorm addressed his feet. Calm and articulate, he thought, like Maedhros. “Uh, my lord, I do. Vá- Lady Vána says that the Valar are whatever they want to be, but, I’m, um, not sure that’s true? I mean, I’m not sure it is any more true for you than it is for me, and I know that changing has been difficult for me. In some ways, I suppose you’ve seen that more than most, my lord. So, uh, I guess that the most important thing is to look internally, and, to, you know, figure out what you need to do better, and do better. Oh, and listening. That’s important.”

As if summoned by Celegorm thinking of him earlier, Maedhros appeared. He bowed, very properly, and then he too addressed Námo. “My Lord Námo, you must know that I owe you everything I have, and everything I have become. If you had not listened to Fingon, had not listened to Eärendil, I would still be a broken, tired spirit with no drive to be changed or redeemed. If you asked a mortal, they might say that Eru’s gift to elves was that we were unchanging, unaffected. In my experience, the opposite is true. Eru has given us the time to remake ourselves, to become better than we were. If I were mortal, I would have died the monster I was. I am so much more now. We change more slowly than mortals, yes, but do we not change more completely, given time? I wonder. And, by the same logic, I wonder if you, my lords, are as unchanging as you purport yourselves to be. You do not need to be, should you wish it, for Vána is right that you have the time and power to remake yourselves, but it is rare you use it, to my mind. Of course, such things are a skill to be learned, and one that requires diligence and training to master. Could you master it in time? Yes. If you have not yet, then we should not expect you to be perfect on your first attempt.”

“What he said,” Celegorm muttered, still looking at the ground. 

“Where would you draw the line of forgiveness, if you were us?” Námo asked. He looked at Maedhros now, and Celegorm wondered where his once broken brother was drawing the strength required to face down a Vala from. 

Maedhros’s face was unreadable, diplomatic and cold. “My lord, I would forgive those who had the drive to become better than they were, who acted on it to become more than they were. If Melkor himself was to commit to changing, as I have, I would have him given another chance, my lord. It would be worth it, to know that all those who have changed were treated fairly. I would never want to look at him again, and yet, what sort of hypocrite would I be if I didn’t offer the chance to those who wronged me that I was offered by those I wronged? Better to live in a world where we allow those who seek goodness to do so.”

He turned away, and walked back to Fingon. The silence in his wake was all consuming. Oromë pulled Celegorm tighter to his chest. 

“You know, we really have to stop letting Maedhros surprise us.” Idril muttered, under her breath. Oromë and Celegorm, who remembered the conference she was referencing, smiled just a little. Lómion looked confused. 

“If Maedhros ever stops surprising us, I will be concerned,” Elrond said. He was smiling, eyes still following Maedhros as he reached Fingon. They embraced, and then were swallowed back into the crowd, though Maedhros was tall enough that Celegorm could still see a flash of red hair. When even this vanished, Elrond turned to Námo. “What do you think, my lord?”

It was Nienna who spoke instead, and everyone had to strain to hear her. “I think that he is right. A world where those who seek redemption, who seek love, may, is a better world than one where even those who are driven by histories and traumas beyond our comprehension are cast out.”

“And what of those who do not seek it?” Námo asked her, looking down at Eöl. He seemed pensive, in as much as he ever displayed any emotion. 

“Then let them be kept from doing further harm.” Nienna knelt beside Eöl, and offered him her hand. He pulled away, and she stood, bowing her head so the dark layers of her hood obscured her face entirely. 

Manwë raised a hand, and Eönwë was at his side in a second, appearing as if out of the air. He was wearing armor, tinted with gold, though he carried no arms. His copper hair was carried around his head as if by an unknown wind. At a gesture from Manwë, he lifted Eöl, struggling, off the ground, and then both of them vanished. 

“Where did you send him?” Lómion asked. He was still kneeling on the ground. There was something of relief in his face, though Celegorm thought it was also tinged with sorrow. 

“Back to Middle Earth,” Manwë told him. He motioned for Lómion and Idril both to stand. “He will not learn here, but as time passes there, and the magics of elves continue to fade, perhaps he will see more clearly.”

Poor King Thranduil, Celegorm thought. Afflicted with Eöl as a subject. No matter how much of an ass Oropher could be, no son of his deserved such a punishment. Though be that as it may, any who now remained in Middle Earth were probably strong willed and well armed. Eöl would be no match for them. 

“I imagine some time in Thranduil’s dungeons will clear his head,” Elrond said, sounding far too pleased with the situation. Well, it was good to have confirmation that Thranduil had the means to deal with murderers and malingerers. 

Oropher was unable to hide a malicious grin. “I have trust in my son’s abilities.”

There was a lull in conversation. Celegorm, sensing that the moment for such things had passed, slid out of Oromë’s grasp, though he kept their hands entwined. 

“Should we return to the planned order of events?” Eärendil asked, of nobody in particular.

Arafinwë opened his mouth to respond, took a good, long look at the Noldorin contingent, and then closed it again. Celegorm, following his gaze, had to stifle a laugh. In addition to the initial merging of Fëanor and Fingolfin’s houses- Gil-galad and Celebrimbor, the heads of the houses, Fingon and Maedhros- there had been further swapping between the groups as the conversation progressed. Caranthir had drifted off to join Finrod, while, for some baffling reason that Celegorm could not discern, Angrod and Amrod had switch not only positions, but also hats. Indeed, further examination revealed that there had been some merging between the Noldor and other groups as well. Oropher’s grandson had appeared to talk with Elladan, Vána was hovering around Aredhel, Findis was with the Vanyar, while Sídhil had slipped over to chat up a young Teleri, and Lalwen had vanished entirely. 

“Not much point to trying to do things formally at this point,” Dior muttered. Manwë blinked owlishly at the crowds. 

“Why don’t we just try to do this?” Celegorm said, mostly to himself, and, when nobody interrupted, let go of Oromë’s hand to cross to Manwë. He bowed. “My name is Turcafinwë Tyelkormo called Celegorm, son of Fëanáro called Fëanor, your majesties. With your efforts to create ties of peacetime between our peoples, you honour us.”

They were Maglor’s words, save for the introduction, written for the part Celegorm and his brothers had played in the original plot. It was Dior who caught on to the idea most quickly, and he offered Celegorm his hand. 

“Lord Celegorm, it is, as always, a pleasure.” It was most certainly not always a pleasure. Celegorm had mistreated Dior’s mother, and been instrumental in his murder, and those of his wife and sons. Though Dior had some relationship with Celegorm’s elder brothers, he had none whatsoever with Celegorm and the younger set. It was one of his more clever tactical moves to suggest that their reconciliation was already a done deal. 

Taking Dior’s hand, Celegorm said, “I imagine there’s little I can offer you in terms of apologies that Maedhros hasn’t said better, save this: Dior, your mother was without question one of the bravest people I have ever met, and my treatment of her is easily among my greatest regrets. If I could unmake that decision, I would.”

Dior peered into Celegorm’s face. “Among the greatest?”

Celegorm shrugged evenly. “Taking the oath, leaving Oromë, Doriath, my treatment of your mother, Finrod, and not putting an arrow in Eöl years ago, in some order.”

Dior, who, this close, was truly exceptionally handsome, perhaps even more so than his mother, gave Celegorm a smirk. “Fair enough.”

“Have you ever met Oromë?” Celegorm asked, and, when the answer was no, started on introductions. 

Idril caught on quick enough, and was helping Eärendil with Varda before anyone had to tell her to. Lómion seemed prepared to slink back into the crowd. Unfortunately for him, Aulë and Curufin chose the exact same moment to enter the circle, and met in the middle right on top of him. Celegorm’s grandfather Mahtan joined them, at which point Celegorm, who was by then introducing Oromë to Celeborn, lost the thread of events entirely. He didn’t catch on again until Celebrimbor spoke up from behind him. 

“Fuck.” 

Celegorm glanced to Celebrimbor for a second, and then turned to look where Celebrimbor was looking. Indis. As far as Celegorm knew, nobody aside from perhaps her children had seen Indis in years. She was a recluse of even more renown than her daughters, to the point where she had been the only living (not, for these purposes, counting what Míriel did as living) family member not to appear at Celebrimbor and Gil-galad’s wedding. Celegorm couldn’t even manage to muster the token bitterness he had once felt towards her. Indis seemed to have appeared from the Vanya delegation, but she wasn’t moving towards the middle of the circle. Instead, she walked through them, crowds parting before her, so she could kneel at the feet of Vairë the weaver, of all people.   

“What’s happening?” Aredhel whispered. She was too short to see over the crowd. Also-

“Where did you come from? It’s Indis. Kneeling at the feet of Vairë.”

“What the fuck? And as to your question, Tirion, by way of Beleriand and Tirion again.”

“Fuck off,” Celegorm told her. The way she joked, with just a hint of laughter in her voice, told Celegorm that she was happy. Truly happy. “Oh shit.”

The elf behind Vairë, crossing, at this moment, to offer her hand to Indis, was unknown to Celegorm, and yet not. She looked- well, the person she most closely resembled was Celegorm. She looked like Celegorm, but Celegorm didn’t look, well, like anybody. He never had. She was clearly Noldorin, but her hair was as silver as Celegorm’s. In other ways, they were equally similar. Fair in eyes and skin- too fair, in fact- of a muscular build, tall, with a similar face shape to Celegorm too. All his life, people had told Celegorm that he didn’t look like either of his parents by sheer misfortune or by Eru’s will. But now, seeing this woman, Celegorm knew instantly two things he had never known before. This woman was his grandmother, and he took after his grandmother. Eru. What to make of that? 

“Celegorm, what is happening?” Aredhel demanded. 

Celegorm opened his mouth to reply, but a sudden hush fell over the crowd, as they do sometimes when everyone realizes there is something they want to hear.  

“Please-” that was Celegorm’s father. A quick search of the crowd found him standing between Ulmo and Sídhil’s young love interest, who looked properly terrified by an interrogation involving one of the most powerful Valar, and the greatest of the Noldor, both of who had a vested interest in the wellbeing of his crush. 

Like they had parted before Indis, the crowd left room for Fëanor. He moved almost slowly, as if he was forcing his way through a strong wind. Indis, at a nod from Vairë, stood, offered a few whispered words to Míriel, who hugged her, and then got out of Míriel’s way. Celegorm found himself pushing forward through the crowd, almost unconsciously. He was strong enough, and Fëanorion enough that people let him pass. He caught Maedhros out of the corner of his eye doing the same. Where the rest of their brothers had gotten to, Celegorm couldn’t say. In fact, he’d lost track of everyone, Oromë included, save for Maedhros and the subjects of the drama before him. 

Celegorm’s father stopped just at the end of the crowd. He was facing away from Celegorm, but the shaking in his shoulders gave away the fact that he was crying. Míriel came close, but didn’t touch. They had not seen each other, face to face, since Celegorm’s father was not a year old. Even returned to life, it was said Míriel was often if not always too weak to leave her post, and Vairë did not receive guests. This was why Celegorm had never seen her. He had not even seen her likeness, for Finwë had not liked to have it around, and Fëanor had never kept it in public places, out of some jealousy or covetous nature. Ass. He should have told Celegorm years ago that he was the spitting image of his grandmother. It would have made a young, insecure Celegorm feel as though he belonged, and, perhaps, would have assuaged all the accusations of bastardhood Celegorm had experienced over the years 

They hugged, awkwardly. Celegorm’s father was heaving with sobs, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his mother’s hair. They held that pose for a long second, while Celegorm and the others kept shoving their way through the crowd. It was Fingolfin, of all people, who got there first. He must have snuck around by his own mother, for Celegorm not to have noticed him. Fëanor, seeing his half-brother, pulled away. 

“Nolo,” he called, the nickname rolling off his tongue as though he always referred to Fingolfin so tenderly, “this is my mother.” 

Fingolfin bowed, properly. His face was an unreadable mask, only gaining a slight smile when Celegorm’s father whispered something in his ear. What those words had been, historians and gossips alike would have loved to know, for a moment later, Fingolfin was embracing both his brother and his… stepmother? Eh, it didn’t really matter. 

Celegorm shoved through the last bit of the crowd- “sorry, Ecthelion” - and burst out into the slight space that had cleared around his father, uncle and grandmother. All three turned to look at him. 

“Celegorm,” Fingolfin said, regaining his senses first, “this is your grandmother, Míriel.”

Míriel reached a hand up to touch her own hair, and then, slowly, reached out to touch Celegorm’s. She saw the resemblance as well. As did Oromë, who dropped in hawk form at Celegorm’s side before shifting back to the form he had been in earlier. He looked between Celegorm and Míriel, with a sly smile on his face. Celegorm poked him in the side. 

“Oh you ass, you knew and never said anything.”

Míriel blinked owlishly at him. “Were you never shown?”

Celegorm briefly considered screaming into his hands. “Nobody was. I’ve always assumed it was some strange chance. Most people do, save those who prefer to say that I’m a bastard.”

It had been years since Celegorm had seen his father go from joyful- for though he wept, they were happy tears- to full of rage so quickly. In fact, he was not the only one. Fingolfin had the exact same look on his face. Oromë was hiding it much better, but the hand that was snaking around Celegorm’s shoulders clenched tightly. 

“Who?” Celegorm’s father managed, snappishly. 

Celegorm shrugged. “My agemates, before. And then of course everyone in Beleriand. Not an unreasonable conclusion, given the perfectly even split between red and black hair in the rest of the family.”

As if on cue, Maedhros came bursting from the crowd, dragging Fingon behind him. He stopped, looking from Celegorm to Míriel, and his jaw dropped. Fingon, with none of the grace Celegorm knew he sometimes possessed, tripped over his own feet and knocked into Maedhros. 

“Why didn’t I assume this was true years ago?” Maedhros asked, of nobody in particular. He steadied Fingon with a practiced hand, and bowed to his grandmother. “My lady, I am Maedhros-”

“And this lovely young fellow is Fingon.” Míriel gave them both smiles. “I know who all of you are, in fact. Just because I cannot always be here, does not mean that I do not always care.”

Fëanor gave both of them frowns. “Did you know?” He demanded, mostly of Maedhros, though it was Fingon who flinched in the face of his ire. 

“What kind of moron would have said something in front of me?” Maedhros demanded. “I know I’m not the most intimidating older brother, but I am one who would have found a way to make their lives a waking nightmare like most people can only dream of.”

“Well, you’re the most intimidating older brother I’ve got,” muttered Celegorm, mostly to himself. Their younger siblings, he was sure, would have said Celegorm himself, and with good reason. Celegorm didn’t have Maedhros’s skills in conspiring, but he did have tough knuckles and strong muscles. It hadn’t made him a lot of friends, but it had rather effectively shut people up. It was also, in a roundabout way, how a certain Vala had become Celegorm’s closest confidant and eventual lover, so Celegorm didn’t really mind the final result. 

Maedhros opened his mouth to retort, but Míriel cut him off, addressing her son. “My dear, I cannot stay long.”

Indeed, she already seemed smaller, weaker than she had been when Celegorm had first seen her. Another problem the Valar had never been able to solve. 

Fëanor took her hand. “I know, Ammë. And I love you, always.”

Míriel pulled him down so she could press a kiss to the top of his head. “I am so proud of you, yonya. More so than you will ever know.”

Fëanor let her go. Celegorm could see his father’s heart break anew, and, remembering how long he had missed his own parents, knew what he felt. Míriel might have returned then, to Vairë, if Oromë had not spoken up. 

“Wait!” 

Everyone turned to stare at Oromë, and in a swirl and flash of power, the rest of Celegorm’s brothers found themselves standing shoulder to shoulder around their grandmother, along with Celegorm’s mother, Elrond, and Celebrimbor. The grin Míriel gave them was pure, and her laugh was crystal when Gil-galad, who appeared a half second later, knocked right into his father and sent the both of them stumbling again. 

“So proud of you,” she told Fëanor again, and then, with a half wave to the rest of the family, she was gone. 

Fëanor shattered, into the waiting arms of his wife. Fingolfin, who seemed to not entirely know what to do with himself, tried to hook his thumbs through belt loops that weren’t there. His mother, who was standing by where Vairë had been, made her way over. Fingolfin looked away, and would not meet her eyes. It was instead Maedhros who spoke. 

“It has been some years, grandmother.” He wrapped an arm around Fingon’s shoulder, as if to add, ‘the division you built in our house is no more’. It was more anger than Indis deserved, for doing nothing more than falling in love with someone she shouldn’t have. The same crime of which Maedhros and Celegorm both were guilty. 

“It has,” agreed Indis, and then addressed the group at large. “Long before I ever met Finwë, Míriel was my friend. Take that into consideration with the information I give to you now. Míriel is trying, to heal, to be here for you. Stubborn as iron she may be, but not even the Valar can heal every wound. I think- I think Vairë might not be so stubbornly against appeals to visit as she once was. If I have done my job right, anyhow.”

The look she gave Fingon at this last line said everything in not a single word. For what job was it that Fingon was famed for doing right? Baffling, and fascinating. Well, it was a day for revelations. 

“Thank you,” Celegorm’s father mumbled. And then, managing to get himself under control, “for everything, not just that.”

Indis bowed her head, golden hair tumbling like a waterfall about her face. “I miss them too, son-of-my-husband. Every day.”

Fingolfin, who had not so much as raised his eyes from the ground, asked, “can you stay?”

“If Fëanáro is alright with my staying.”

Celegorm’s father turned to meet her eyes. “Let this foolish feud end with he who began it. Stay, wife-of-my-father.”

Oromë, pressing his lips to Celegorm’s ear, whispered, “does familial peacemaking always involve this much crying?”

Celegorm turned his head to press his lips to Oromë’s in a gentle kiss. “Or more. Sometimes there’s also throwing punches, but that varies. You’ll recall that I never said it was easy.”

“No, you said it was hard, but you also said it was worth it.”

“And is it?”

Oromë threw a pointed glance behind them to where Varda was speaking with an animated Sídhil and a bemused Círdan. Then with a gentle hand, guided Celegorm to look at Námo, who was speaking with Lómion and Idril again, followed in quick succession by Manwë, who was speaking with Glorfindel, Erestor, and a young Vanya, and Melian, who was whispering to a smiling Aredhel.

Celegorm knew him well enough to interpret this as the answer it was, and didn’t ask again. Instead, he rested his head on Oromë’s shoulder and enjoyed the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS ENDED. IT IS POSTED VERY LATE BUT IT IS NOT MIDNIGHT HERE SO I WIN. 
> 
> AGHHHGHGHGH
> 
> I’ve been building to this story for MONTHS guys. MONTHS. I started working on this series so long ago I barely even remember. I was high on cold and sinus medication when I wrote the first one, and now it is spring, and I have a different, unrelated cold. Life is funny that way. I can’t believe this odyssey has been bookended by colds. I can’t believe I wrote a like 100 000 word fucking Silmarillion fan fiction y’all. I last read that thing in like the seventh grade (I was a weird kid don’t @ me. I read LOTR on my own for the first time in the fourth.). I can’t believe it’s over. God. Somebody scream with me.
> 
> AGHGHGHGHGH 
> 
> Okay that’s better. 
> 
> Anyways, I love all of you, and thank you SO MUCH for sticking with me. There will be some more excerpts and Nerdanel bits, after I recover from writing this thing, but as this is the last big on, I think thanking you here is appropriate. So again, THANK YOU, for every Kudos and Comment and Hit, you have no idea how much the response this has gotten means to me. I’ll see y’all around.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be the longest ‘Dawn’ story by a lot. It is also going to be the last long form ‘Dawn’ story. I have 3 scenes left to write. Somebody scream with me. 
> 
> There will, after this, be a couple shorts, and then all my focus goes to Marred But Remade, which is the Meadhros and the Fellowship story I am writing, which you will probably like if you like those two things.


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